#happy birthday profdanglaisstuff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stahlop · 2 years ago

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I posted 205 times in 2022

22 posts created (11%)

183 posts reblogged (89%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@cssns

@stahlop

@kmomof4

@spartanguard

@pirateherokillian

I tagged 37 of my posts in 2022

#once upon a time - 9 posts

#cssns 2022 - 7 posts

#once upon a time rewatch - 6 posts

#once upon a time review - 5 posts

#captain swan supernatural summer - 5 posts

#captain swan - 4 posts

#csss22 - 4 posts

#wip game - 4 posts

#killian jones - 3 posts

#mariakov81 - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 67 characters

#and then were stabbed with a sword by said savior to save the world

My Top Posts in 2022:

CSSNS Artist Spotlight

I am highlighting @mariakov81. She wasn’t even my artist but she made me the artwork below for my CSSNS 20 fic Making a Memory. This was a birthday gift she made for me before I’d even posted the piece, but Masha had been hearing me talk about it for over a year by that point.

I don’t know if she’ll be able to art for us this year, as she’s been displaced by the war in the Ukraine, but she’s too talented not to shine a spotlight on.

22 notes - Posted March 23, 2022

What are you doing New Year’s Eve?

Hey all! I had hoped to get this done for New Years, but that didn't quite happen. Only 10 days late. Not too bad. The muse would not stop talking while I was writing this, so you get this 10,000 word one-shot. This is a fake dating fic, but with a twist. I hope you enjoy it.

Thanks to @profdanglaisstuff and @thisonesatellite for being my awesome betas!

Summary:

“You were thinking I could pretend to be your new boyfriend?” He looks a bit incredulous that she’s asking him this. Crap! Did she read this whole situation wrong? They’re always flirting in the hall and at the mailbox, usually when she’s just gotten home from her job. Maybe he’s just the type that flirts with everyone and he really isn’t interested in her. She’s usually really good at reading people.

“Yes?” It comes out like a squeak. She feels like an idiot. Emma Swan, who can take down a man in six-inch heels and a mini-dress as one of Boston’s top bail bonds people, is making a complete fool of herself.

Rated: T

Read it on Ao3

Emma looks at the slightly damp invitation in her hand before knocking hesitantly on her neighbor’s door. Of all the insane plans she’s had, this one certainly takes the cake. And now she’s getting her neighbor involved. Though he flirts with her constantly, so she’s pretty sure he’s interested in her and her whole scheme won’t be completely out of left field. And now she’s feeling like an idiot just standing out here. Maybe her knock was too hesitant.

She’s about to leave and just forgo this whole thing when he opens his door.

“Hey!” he says, with a grin on his face. Emma notices his dark hair is wet and dripping down the hair on his chest. A towel rests low on his waist and Emma notices a happy trail that starts right below his belly button. Shit! She must have caught him right out of the shower.

“Um, hey!” she says back. That was so lame. Emma tries to regain her composure and get back on track with her plan. “I can come back later if you’d like.”

He looks her up and down and Emma is glad she wore a deep v-neck top tonight. “Not a problem. Come on in, take a seat.” He gestures to his black leather couch. “Just let me put some clothes on.” Her neighbor disappears into a room directly across from the front door. Emma makes herself at home on the couch and looks around. It’s pretty neat, with a coat and shoe rack combo right next to the door. A coffee table is placed right in front of the couch with some mail on it. Some men’s magazines and a TV Guide, Emma notices. There are few pictures around, mainly of him with friends. None with girls. So her instinct that he was single was right. It’s definitely got that bachelor pad feel to it.

“Sorry about that.” He says as he comes back in from his room. He’s changed into a pair of loose fitting jeans, a gray henley (that unfortunately covers up his chest hair), and an unzipped brown hoodie. He rubs the back of his head with a towel and Emma can’t help smiling at how hot he looks doing it. “What can I do you for?” he asks, sitting close to her. A wave of butterflies goes through her stomach because there’s a whole other side of the couch he could have sat on, and instead, he’s decided to be close to her.

“Um, okay, this is going to sound insane, but….” she trails off and just hands him the invitation. He takes it from her and reads it out loud.

“Storybrooke Annual New Year’s Eve Ball,” he announces. “You want me to go to a ball with you?” He looks confused at the invitation.

“So, my parents –who I love and are the best people– try to set me up every year at this thing. And it’s something that I have to go to. I always go back to my hometown in Maine for it. And I’m sick of the set ups, so I kinda told them I’d started seeing someone….” At this her neighbor gives her a quizzical look, like he doesn’t quite understand what she’s telling him. “Um, I was kind of hoping that I could get away with saying it was a new relationship and he wasn’t ready to meet the parents yet, but they insisted.” She’s started fidgeting with her hair now, the blonde strands that never stay in her ponytail no matter how tightly she pulls it back. “So, I was thinking…”

“Sure, Ems,” he smiles. “I’d love to come home with you and pretend to be your fake boyfriend.” Emma lets go of the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding.

“Thanks, Neal.” A smile forms on her lips. “Let’s go over the details.”

—----

“Emma! Honey, Emma’s home!” Emma’s mother has been out on the front porch of the old farmhouse waiting for them. It’s currently snowing and her mother is waiting on the front porch.

“Mom! It’s freezing outside,” she huffs. Droplets of her breath hanging in the air as if to prove her point. She was already irritated. Neal had insisted on driving his Jeep instead of her precious, yellow Bug. Sure her Bug was older and had the unfortunate capacity for breaking down on a regular basis. She doesn’t really drive it much in Boston but she’s had the car since high school, rebuilt it with her father, and even though she’s now 24, she doesn’t want to get rid of it. Neal’s Jeep happened to be the kind with the canvas roof and plastic windows, so it was just the frame in the summertime. And it didn’t keep the cold out at all. At least her Bug has working heat (most of the time). So, to see her mother sitting outside in the cold when she could be inside the warm house makes Emma even more upset.

Her mother gives a little laugh and throws her hands out at her. “I have two heaters out here. I’m fine,” she says, adjusting the scarf around her neck as she leaves the apparently warm porch to greet her. She embraces Emma in a warm hug. Emma can feel the heat on her clothes from the porch heaters.

“And you must be Neal!” she says, going in to give him a hug as well. She looks about ready to burst, her face stretched into the biggest smile Emma has ever seen in her life. But Neal sticks out his left hand instead (he’s left-handed, but it still seems to be a quirk he has as Emma has never seen another left-handed person shake that way). Her mother’s face falters and her body stops as if she’s slammed into an invisible wall, but she recovers quickly and puts her hand in Neal’s for a shake. “Mary Margaret Nolan,” she says, introducing herself..

“Neal Cassidy,” he responds with a small smile. Certainly not as wide as smiles she’s seen him give her when she’s wearing her honey trap outfits.

“Well, grab your stuff and come inside.” Mary Margaret gestures for them to follow her. The snow falls into her brunette pixie cut, still without any hint of gray. “Your father is out doing the evening chores and should be back in soon.” Emma nods and grabs her purse from the car before moving the seat to grab her luggage in the back.

“Hey, babe,” Neal says loudly, giving her an exaggerated wink, “I gotta take a piss. Can you grab my things for me?” Emma is about to suggest he just grab his stuff after he’s done, but instead he just yells “Thanks!” and crunches up the walk to the farmhouse.

He must have really had to go, Emma thinks as she takes a look in the back of the Jeep to see at least four pieces of luggage, not including her two, sitting there.

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24 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

A Chance to Fly Ch.2

Second chapter of my CSSNS fic is here!

I want to thank all the ladies in the @cssns Discord (since I was too excited to post the first chapter and forgot), for helping me with the descriptions of the dragon and helping me come up with the title.

Thank you @spartanguard for being my beta and for the banner.

Chapter 1

Read it on Ao3

Rated T

Considering she was the princess of Misthaven, Emma had actually not seen much of the land her mother ruled over. She had assumed that because her mother often talked about marrying her off, that it was that she didn’t want her to become attached since she would go live with her husband in his kingdom. But flying above it now, she could see just how much she had missed out on. She knew her kingdom was on the water, but she’d never seen the vastness of the sea, her room being on the land side of the castle. It extended so far, Emma wondered if there was an end. The village that she’d snuck out to just that morning seemed so tiny from up in the air. And she could see more tiny villages spread out below her. She hadn’t even known those existed until this very moment. She could also see how in need of repairs the towns further from the castle were. Emma knew the wealthiest citizens, the ones who donated to the queen’s causes and helped keep their army up and running lived in the town. The ‘War Council’, as her mother called them, even though they’d never been at war in Emma’s lifetime, were her most trusted advisors. They all had grand houses near the palace, although Emma had only seen them from the carriage on trips into town. She’d never met any of them either. If it weren’t for the times when she was younger that her mother had brought her to that exact field that she’d just left, Emma would have thought her mother did not want her known at all.

“Quite a view,” she heard Captain Nemo say from behind her. She had almost forgotten he was there. While she was clinging for dear life around the base of the dragon’s neck where the spines stopped, her companion sat behind her as if this was a normal means of transportation for him. Emma realized it probably was.

“It’s a bit…disorienting,” she said, still gripping tightly. The scales did not feel hard or scaly like she had expected them to. Instead, they felt as soft as the leather satchels her mother favored. She wondered how that protected him, being soft instead of hard.

“I’m sure you’ve never seen your whole kingdom before.” There was a hint of accusation in his words, not toward her though.

“Not from this angle,” she replied, trying to be as diplomatic about it as possible. Emma knew there were those that did not agree with her mother’s politics, and it seemed that Captain Nemo may be one of them. The answer seemed to satisfy the captain.

The force of the wind and the beating of the dragon’s wings were whipping Emma’s hair all around her. Even if it had been in a simple twist, it would have been better than the knots she was going to have once they landed. She hoped Captain Nemo wasn’t having to fight it too much. As if he were reading her mind, he asked, “Would you like me to tie your hair back for you, princess?”

“That would be lovely.” He plucked a red ribbon from his coat pocket (Emma would have to find out later why he had a random ribbon on him), and began to gently braid her hair. It was an odd sensation, having her hair braided while flying on the back of a grand dragon. It also made her wonder how a man such as he came to know how to braid a woman’s hair.

“I have a daughter,” he said, once again making Emma wonder if he had some mind reading talent. “Or rather, I adopted her when her kingdom was lost to the Ogres. I’m somewhat known for taking in lost children.” It was obvious from the tone he used that he considered Emma one of those ‘lost’ children. But Emma would not play the game he was trying to play with her.

“That sounds wonderful, Captain Nemo. I hope to be introduced to them some day.” If she was anywhere but riding a dragon, she would have given him her patented royal smile, but since she couldn’t exactly turn around to face him, she hoped that she sounded sincere.

“Well,” he began, “you’ve technically already met one.” She felt him pat the dragon near her leg. “I raised Hook here since he was a babe. Poor thing was abandoned when I found him.” Emma felt a pang of sadness overcome her. She didn’t know anything about dragons, had no idea how they were raised or how they bonded with their parents, but the idea of being abandoned tugged at her heartstrings.

“We’re almost there,” Captain Nemo announced. Emma looked down to see a large forest spread out beneath her.

“Where are we?” she asked. She’d never been so far from the castle.

“Sherwood Forest, near Nottingham,” he replied as if it were common knowledge. Emma wasn’t sure if her mother’s reach went this far. She wasn’t sure what her mother would do now that she’d been taken. She wasn’t even sure where or why she was being taken here. Did the dragon live in the forest? She thought they preferred caves.

A small clearing became visible and she felt them starting to descend down towards it. Emma braced herself for a hard landing. She was pleasantly surprised when he landed gently, almost like landing on a cloud. Captain Nemo didn’t seem to agree.

“I swear, his landings get worse and worse,” he grumbled, holding his lower back as he slid down Hook’s leg and down onto the ground. Captain Nemo grabbed Emma’s hand and helped down the same way. That was not as easy as the captain had made it seem. The bottom of her dress caught on the dragon’s dew claw and a nasty tear appeared right above the hem. Captain Nemo had the gumption to at least look slightly embarrassed about that.

“Don’t worry. A dress is not the proper attire for dragon riding. We’ll get you fixed up with the proper clothing soon enough.” Emma couldn’t figure out how that was going to happen, what with them being in the middle of a forest. It wasn’t like a seamstress was just going to pop around from a tree.

But a young woman did.

“Papa!” The young girl shouted, running into Captain Nemo’s arms. She was a pretty, young brunette, not much older than Emma was. She wore a plain, simple blue frock with white stockings and black slippers. It did not seem like the attire of someone who would be hanging around the forest.

“Belle! Oh, my sweet girl!” Captain Nemo kissed the girl, Belle, on the forehead and enveloped her into a hug. Emma stood awkwardly next to Hook, who also seemed to shift uncomfortably (could dragons be uncomfortable?). Instinct had Emma stroking Hook’s wing and his whole body seemed to relax at her touch. She knew dragon riders had a special bond to their dragon, but being able to relax him seemed on a whole other level.

“Emma!” Captain Nemo said, pulling away from the young girl. “Meet my daughter, Belle, the one I was telling you about!” he said brightly. Emma could see the love and affection radiating between the two. It was something she had never seen from her mother in all her eighteen years. She put on a smile that she knew didn’t reach her eyes to say hello.

“It’s nice to meet you, Belle,” Emma said, giving a small bow forward. Belle curtsied in return.

“Belle, this is Emma, Hook’s dragon rider,” Captain Nemo said, completing the introductions. Belle looked slightly startled at her father’s announcement, but recovered herself to give a smile back. Emma wondered why she seemed startled. Hadn’t Captain Nemo and Hook been searching for a dragon rider? A movement from the trees knocked Emma from her musings. She was surprised to see more people emerging from the same direction that Belle had come from heading into the clearing. Emma backed up into Hook. She may have just met the dragon, but she felt safe with him.

“Nemo!” A scruffy looking man with graying blonde hair, a quiver full of arrows on his back, and a bow in his hand, called out towards them. “Who is this you have brought back with you?” Emma noted that he had an accent similar to the man she had met earlier that morning. Had it really only been that morning she had snuck out to try a caramel apple, hoping for just a little excitement in her life, and now she had literally ridden a dragon farther than she’d ever been in her whole existence?

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27 notes - Posted August 30, 2022

A Chance to Fly

Thank you to the @cssns for once again making this wonderful event. This fic was supposed to be a one shot, but it kind of decided it wanted to be a multi chapter instead. I have not finished it, so there is no kind of schedule. But I am currently working on chapter 2, so I will get it finished as soon as possible. I know exactly what is happening and where it is heading.

Thank you @spartanguard for the wonderful artwork and also for being my beta!

Read it on Ao3

Rated: T

The day had not happened how Emma had envisioned it would when she woke up that morning.

It had started out nice—the sun streaming through her windows, waking her up as usual. It was the first day of the week, so her mother was already out attending the gardens, something that would take her away from being inside all day. Which was perfect for what Emma had planned.

She silently crept out of her bed and changed into a plain, light blue, linen gown, something she knew wouldn’t look out of place where she was headed. She pulled her long blonde hair out of her face and into a bun, tying it as tightly as she could with a matching blue ribbon. She pulled up her stockings and put on the slippers she normally wore when helping her mother with the gardens. Normally, her mother would insist on the servants helping her with a tiny bit of makeup; instead, she pulled out a simple brown cloak that would cover her face and hair and put it on.

Emma went to her hope chest that resided at the foot of her bed. She didn’t know where it came from, but it was exquisitely made. Her name was carved into it and it was surrounded by swans and dragons. It was obvious someone had put a lot of time and effort into making it for her. When she asked her mother, she said it had been a gift when she was born 18 years ago, but couldn’t tell her from whom. Emma knew she was lying. She could tell when people were lying. Her mother lied about many things; Emma could just never figure out why.

Inside the hope chest, she moved blankets and heavy traveling cloaks aside until her hand reached the pouch she had hidden at the bottom. A small, velvet satchel of coins that she had stolen from her mother earlier in the week. She put the coin purse in her skirt pocket, then walked toward the enormous fireplace that filled her room. Spring had settled early and it was too nice for a fire right now, but Emma wasn’t going to make a fire. She moved the grate out of the way and pulled up the false bottom, revealing a small ladder. She was glad her servants had never looked too closely when they’d lit the fires for her; this was definitely a secret she didn’t want her mother to know about.

Emma climbed down the ladder and took the secret passageway that led out of her home. She’d often wondered why this passageway existed. Did a past ancestor have a secret lover that they went to visit or bring into their room? Maybe it was just a servant’s entrance, but that didn’t explain why it went into her bedroom. Most likely the mystery would never be answered. Emma used it to go into the village undetected on days when she wanted to be anywhere but home. Days like today, when the market was happening.

Emma crept through the crowded market in the center of town, trying not to be seen. Her cloak hid her face just enough to give her some semblance of anonymity, but it would not do for her to be caught. Her mother would punish her if she knew she were out. Not that many people would recognize her by her face; her blonde hair, on the other hand…

The outdoor market was known throughout the Enchanted Forest. Royalty and peasants came far and wide to buy the wares, spices, and food only found here. It was practically a maze for someone who’d never been there before. Emma imagined it was much like the bazaar’s she’d been taught about in Agrabah. She pulled the cloak further down over her face and made sure her hair was still held back as she approached the merchant selling caramel apples. She knew it was an indulgence, something she really shouldn’t spend the tiny bit of coins she’d stolen, but she’d seen them when they had ridden through the market last week, and it was all she’d thought about since.

Her mouth practically watered as she handed over the coins for the sweet treat. While the cook made many types of apple dishes, caramel apples were fairly new to the market, and Emma couldn’t wait to bite into the one that was on the stick she now held in her hand.

She turned from the merchant, ready to take a bite before finding the shade of a tree to eat under when she ran smack into something solid.

Nope, not something.

Someone.

Emma looked into the bluest eyes she had ever seen; like the sun glinting off a sapphire. The man attached to the luminescent blue eyes looked at her like he’d like seen a ghost. His eyes widened and he shook his head as if to clear his vision. Emma wondered what staring into those eyes all the time would feel like. The rest of him wasn’t bad either. The bottom half of his face was covered by a scruffy beard, dark like his hair with flecks of ginger in it. She could barely make out pointy-tipped ears under his hair. And speaking of hair, his tunic was unbuttoned more than what was considered proper, topped with a gorgeous red waistcoat with black embroidery on it. And that’s when Emma realized the caramel apple she’d been coveting for the last week was nestled into the tuft of chest hair peeking out from the undone buttons.

“No!” she cried, tears pricking her eyes as she realized her caramel apple was no longer edible. All the planning and plotting to get the delectable treat was completely ruined. The stranger’s facial expression turned to one of surprise at her reaction, then gazed down to where she was looking to see the apple now stuck in his chest hair. His face then turned to one of disdain.

“Well that will be a bitch to get out,” he surmised. Emma noticed an accent that wasn’t usually from this part of the Enchanted Forest and absentmindedly wondered where he was from, before focusing on the apple again. The stranger gave Emma a slight smirk before grabbing the apple with a handkerchief he grabbed from an unseen trouser pocket (tight leather trousers she noticed), and unceremoniously pulled the apple from his chest, taking several hairs with it.

“Fu…ow!” Emma almost laughed at him changing his mind about cursing mid-exclamation due to him not wanting to upset her delicate sensibilities. She’d been told on many occasions (usually by her mother) that she had a mouth worthy of any sailor (not in public, mind you, as that would not be appropriate for someone of her station).

Emma smiled at the handsome stranger, almost giggled even, that was until he plopped the now inedible caramel apple into her gloved hands.

“Well, I can’t eat it now,” she pouted as she placed the sticky and (now) hairy apple on the back of a waste cart. She sighed; the whole day was a wash. She might as well head back before her mother discovered she was gone.

“You ran into me, love,” he said to her with a smirk and a bad attempt at a wink. The mouth which had seemed so soft and kissable looking just moments before now repulsed her with his attitude.

“Not your love,” Emma said matter-of-factly. She positioned her hood lower over her eyes so she didn’t have to see his (not) perfect face anymore. “And I didn’t see you there. You just snuck up behind me,” she insisted.

“One would think an apology was in order,” he said drolly.

“Yes, an apology would be nice,” Emma retorted. The stranger lifted one eyebrow up (which Emma did not find sexy at all, no siree, annoying is what she found it) and huffed.

“So we’re just two ships passing very closely?” he asked with a low tone to his voice, his face suddenly very close to hers. Emma was glad her cloak covered her entire body or he may have noticed the goosebumps that formed when he’d spoken.

“Not even in the same body of water.” The nerve of him! Trying to flirt with her after he’d ruined her morning. She stomped off angrily toward home as the stranger yelled something about finding her again. Not in a million years! Her whole day had been turned upside down and it wasn’t even lunch time yet.

She snuck back in through the secret passage, a sigh of relief leaving her when no one was waiting for her in her room. If her mother had had an inkling she’d left, there would definitely be someone here for her. It was still early enough that Emma had time to change before her mother expected for lunch. She removed her linen dress and cloak and shoved them into the bottom of her hope chest. She rang the bell for one of her servants to come help her change into what her mother would consider ‘proper’ attire.

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44 notes - Posted August 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Why Neal Cassidy is a bad person

My dissertation on the horrible person Neal Cassidy is and why he was never meant to be a romantic interest for Emma Swan.

There was a recent TV Line list that talked about Love Triangles that didn’t really work. The Neal/Emma/Hook triangle was one of those on that list. It was obvious from the short blurb that was written that the writer was a Neal fan. I’ve also heard and seen SwanFire (Emma and Neal shippers) fans plead passionately about how they were meant to be, and honestly, I’ve always scratched my head about this, because I’ve always seen Neal as a horrible person. Even before it was obvious to me that they were going the Captain Swan (Hook and Emma) route, I’ve never understood how anyone could be on Team Neal. So I’ve decided to look at it logically.

Look, I understand that Neal is the father of Henry, Emma’s son. I understand that a lot of people feel they should be together because then they would be a family. But just because you have a child with someone does not mean that person is the one for you. So let’s look at the facts surrounding Henry’s birth. Henry was 10 when he found Emma on her 28th birthday, which means she was 17 when she had him (despite Emma saying she was 18 in The Price of Gold). She went to juvie, not jail, which we know from Desperate Souls, because she tells Regina that the records needed for the article printed about her in the paper about having Henry in jail were obtained illegally, because her records were sealed, something that could only happen if she were underage. We know that Emma ran away from Ingrid’s foster home at 16 and made her way to Portland where she stole the bug with Neal inside. At this point, Emma is either still 16 or just about to turn 17, depending on how long it took her to get to Oregon from Minnesota. Either way, she is still underage, and Neal, if we want to go off the age he is now since leaving Neverland, is around 22-23 (his wanted poster in Tallahassee has his birthday as 3/23/77), which is still skeezy in my book. I’m not even going to get into his years in Neverland, because he was the same age for that whole time. Now, Henry’s birthday is 8/15. Regina put this in as a code in the hospital in A Tale of Two Sisters, and in The Dark Swan Henry tells Killian that Regina uses his birthday for all her codes. Whether the writers intended this to be true when they used the code originally I have no idea, but this has been what most of the fandom considers Henry’s birthday. With that date in mind, Emma would have conceived Henry in November of 2000. Since we know Emma’s birthday is October 22nd or 23rd, that means she was only a few weeks past her birthday in conceiving Henry. Barely past the age of 16. In Oregon, the age of consent is (and was in 2000) 18, so Neal was breaking the law by having sex with Emma regardless of her consent.

Moving on to what I consider the biggest reason that Emma could never love Neal (again), is HE FUCKING PINNED HIS CRIME ON HER AND LET HER GO TO JAIL!!!!! I cannot express enough how if Neal truly loved Emma he would have figured out some other way to let her go to get to her destiny once August informed him of who Emma was. He simply could have left. He could have broken up with her. He could have faked his own death. But setting her up to go to prison? That’s just cold-blooded. That’s not something you do to someone you love. And for what? Because he was afraid that Emma would eventually lead him to his father? It’s real simple, Neal, once the curse is broken, you just don’t go to Storybrooke. Simple as that. Or you man up and confront your father. Either way, you don’t set up the girl you purport to love at the risk of seeing your father again! And then, when the curse does break and August sends him a pigeon letting him know, Neal still doesn’t do anything about going to find Emma. This just shows that he didn’t care for her at all. I don’t care how scared of your father you are; if you claim to love someone the way Neal claims to love Emma, you go after them.

Which leads me to the episode Manhattan, in which Neal and Emma reunite and Neal is a complete asshole to Emma. He treats her like she’s still 16, which is just gross. He acts like he knows better than her and tries to convince her he did everything for her own good, while also telling her if he’d known she was from the Enchanted Forest, he never would have gone near her. Then, when he finds out about Henry, he acts as though Emma purposefully kept this from him. She didn’t find out until after he sent her to jail. Get off your moral high horse, Neal. Emma doesn’t owe you a fucking thing. Not to mention that Emma went looking for him after she got out of jail (Regina told us she spent two years in Tallahassee in The Price of Gold). If she could have found him I’m sure she would have told him about having his baby in jail, but Neal wanted nothing to do with Emma, so she couldn’t. The fact that Neal gets upset and hurt over the fact that Emma didn’t tell him about Henry at the bar when he told her he couldn’t and wouldn’t have risked being with her if it meant seeing his father again completely blows my mind. He has absolutely no right to be angry at Emma about Henry. None. Not after what he did to her.

Moving on to Storybrooke, when Tamara comes to town, Emma is suspicious of her (and with good reason), but Neal just thinks she’s jealous. WHAT? Even after repeatedly telling Neal she’s not jealous, he continues to believe it (because he’s apparently a real catch). When Emma reminds him about her superpower is knowing when people lie, Neal says he never believed in that. So not only does he accuse her of being jealous, then he tells her the superpower that we know is real (albeit a little wonky) doesn’t exist and that he never believed in it. Way to be supportive. I can see why he’s such a catch. Now, I do have to give him credit for actually apologizing to Emma for framing her, but I still see it as too little too late. He messed up Emma’s whole view on love and men in general because he was a scared little boy. Emma, of course, turns out to be right about Tamara, which Neal doesn’t figure out about until she clobbers Emma and shoots Neal into a portal. Right before he falls he tells Emma he loves her. Okay, let's back up five minutes ago before we found out Tamara was a traitorous bitch to when Neal was in love with her. FIVE MINUTES AGO! And now he’s telling Emma he loves her like he was never involved with Tamara? Not to mention, he doesn’t even know Emma. He knew her 11 years ago. Emma is not the same, naive little girl she was back then. And yes, Emma tells Neal she loves him too, but again, neither of them are the same people they were back then. So yes, they may both have intense feelings, but if they got to know who they were now, I doubt they’d be in love. And I also believe Emma only said she loved him because he was about to die.

When Neal is in the Enchanted Forest trying to get to Emma and Henry in Neverland, he thinks of no one but himself when it comes to getting there. He uses poor Roland as bait not even caring about the consequences. He also makes himself seem much more involved in Emma and Henry’s life when talking to Mulan. He doesn’t even explain any of the backstory to her, just tells Mulan he messed up and he’s trying to fix it. He can’t even admit out loud the most crucial parts of his and Emma’s story because he knows he is wrong.

Which brings us to Neverland. Neal acts like a possessive jerk the entire time. Emma straight up tells him she wished he was dead, and he apparently takes that as an invitation to ‘never stop fighting for her’. Let’s get one thing straight, for all men, when a woman tells you she wishes you were dead because of all the pain you previously put her through, that does not mean she wants you to fight for her. It means she doesn’t want you in her life. And also, what? When did Neal ever fight for Emma? He’s always run away from Emma! He’d never have even thought to fight for her if she hadn’t come across him in New York and discovered Henry was his son. He was engaged to Tamara only 3-4 days prior once Emma and the crew rescued him from the Echo Caves. So all this ‘never stop fighting for you’ crap that he’s spewing is just pure bullshit, because the one thing Neal is good at is running, not fighting.

Once he finds out that Emma and Hook kissed, well, then Emma doesn’t even seem to be a person anymore, just an object that Neal wants to possess. When Hook tells Neal about his and Emma’s kiss, he just tells Hook, Emma has him now. No, ‘well she might choose me’ or ‘it’s her decision’; Neal’s already decided that Emma is his. And yes, both he and Hook act like children in Dark Hollow when they fight over the lighter, but no one said men are rational when it comes to women. Also, it seems that Neal wants to one up Hook more than he wants Emma once he figures out Hook is his rival.

Once they get back to Storybrooke, it is clear that Emma is uncomfortable when Neal asks her to lunch. The fact that Neal has to beg her to give him a chance, then tells Emma that if she doesn’t show up he’ll leave her alone speaks volumes. It’s obvious to Neal that Emma doesn’t want to give him a chance, yet he insists on it.

Then everyone is cursed back to the Enchanted Forest. And Neal, for all the running away that he’s done, decides that the only way he can get back to Emma and Henry is to resurrect his father, The Dark One. I get that he’s not thinking rationally, but the only way Rumplestiltskin was able to get to the Land Without Magic was getting Regina to enact the Dark Curse. What exactly did he think resurrecting Rumplestiltskin was going to get him? Then when he and Belle find out that the whole resurrection spell was not only a ploy by the Wicked Witch, but would also kill Neal in the process, he decides to go through with it anyway? What is the point of resurrecting his father to get back to Emma and Henry, if he would be dead? All he did was deliver his father into Zelena’s hands and kill himself in the process. As much as the writer’s tried to make it look like Zelena manipulated Neal into doing the spell, Belle tried to warn Neal off and he did it anyway.

I get that he believed he and Emma to be True Love at that point because he was somehow able to bring over the swan keychain necklace. But honestly, I think the curse may have worked a little differently for him (and Hook) since they weren’t part of the original curse. Or maybe it was just sent to be a reminder of all the bad things he did to Emma so he wouldn’t try to go after her. Whatever it was, it did not confirm they were True Love in any way.

And finally we come to his death. I honestly do not understand the hero arc. Neal condemned himself to death to resurrect his father. Rumplestiltskin absorbed Neal so that he wouldn’t lose him (despite the fact that they were barely speaking before Rumplestiltskin’s death), and then Neal asked Emma to free him from his father so he could tell her Zelena was behind everything. How exactly does that make him a hero? He made a stupid choice to resurrect his father, that put him right into Zelena’s hands, and none of that helped him get back to Emma or Henry. The only heroic thing he did was sending the bird to Hook to have him get Emma back her memories, and no one knows that was him.

So let’s review:

Neal took advantage of an underage girl.

Neal sent the girl he loved to juvie by framing her for his crime.

Emma had to have her baby in juvie and give him up for adoption because of Neal.

After Emma broke the curse, Neal still wanted nothing to do with her.

Neal still wanted nothing to do with Emma when he found out she was in NYC to bring him to his father.

Neal gets mad at Emma for never mentioning Henry, despite the fact that he wanted nothing to do with her.

Neal starts treating Emma like she’s still a lovesick teenager when his fiance (whom he also never mentioned) comes into the picture.

Neal immediately tells Emma he loves her five minutes after his fiance tries to kill Emma and shoots him.

Neal uses a 4-year-old to summon the Shadow so he can get to Neverland to be with Emma and Henry.

Neal acts like Emma is a possession and not able to make up her own mind when he realizes he has a rival for affection.

Neal decides resurrecting his father, after making a true sacrifice, is the only way to see Emma and Henry again, despite his father never being able to get to the Land Without Magic before.

Neal basically commits suicide and plays right into Zelena’s plan in order to resurrect his father.

Neal dies because he wouldn’t listen to Belle and resurrects Rumplestiltskin.

I know people have a lot of opinions regarding Neal. Again, I never saw him as a potential love interest for Emma. I got creeper vibes from him from the start. I never saw him as a hero or a potential hero. Was I happy that he died, no. I saw that as a cop out from the writers so they could immediately put Emma and Hook together and not let Emma make up her own mind (which I was confident would be Hook even if Neal was still alive). I would have rather seen Emma and Neal become friends and co-parent Henry together than have a completely useless and avoidable death. Instead, the writers felt the need to glorify his stupidity and then name Snow and Charming’s baby after him (don’t even get me started on how wrong and idiotic that was). But I will always see Neal as a bad guy because he could never think of anyone but himself.

Please do not post anti-Captain Swan comments on this. If you want to defend Neal, please feel free. I’m really curious as to what Neal fans see in him. But I did not mention Hook because this is not about the love triangle, it is about why Neal specifically was not good for Emma.

264 notes - Posted April 24, 2022

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wistfulcynic · 4 years ago

Text

The Thief of Time

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @optomisticgirl!! You are one of the loveliest and most supportive people in the fandom, a loving cat mom and brutal murderer who would die for a fictional plant and has the t-shirt to prove it. I am so, so honoured to have you as a friend ❤️❤️.

This fic came about because B sent me this post and I immediately said "Yep, Killian would be a wizard or an artificer." And B, unrepentant evildoer and witch!Emma's foremost fan, planted seeds in my head that would not stop growing. This is the result.

SUMMARY: Killian Jones, pirate-turned-artificer, has suffered blow after blow from life and all he wants is to go back to the past and make things right. If only he could get his bloody time machine to work.

Emma Swan, witch, has the ability to See through time and space and the responsibility to stand down any threats to either of them. When an artificer from 300 years ago in another realm devises a machine that could blow a hole straight through the multiverse, it’s her job to stop him.

What they find when they meet is an improbable connection, an understanding that bridges the distance between them. A distance that is in all practical ways insurmountable—by everything but love.

(And one very determined pirate-turned-artificer.)

Words: <9k Rating: T Tags: magic au, witch!Emma, artificer!Killian, angst, Killian Jones is a sad boi, a dash of hurt/comfort, time travel, realm travel, HEA

AO3

The Thief of Time:

Once upon a time there was an artificer.

He wasn’t much of an artificer, it must be said. Artificing, as everyone knows, requires patience, perseverance, and attention to detail, and while Killian Jones possessed a rock-solid stubbornness that stood in well for perseverance as well as a fine eye for detail, patience—at least when it came to tedious, laborious tasks—was not among his strengths.

This is perhaps why, on the particular bright morning when his life changed forever, Killian could be found in his workshop surrounded by shards of glass and a puddle of pale brown liquid oozing through his floorboards that until a moment before had been a bottle of rum. Until Killian, in a surge of frustration at yet another failure, had flung it furiously at the wall.

The rum bottle had been a more or less innocent bystander, a casualty of proximity, a stand-in for the machine that sat on a rickety table in the centre of the hut that served as Killian’s workshop—a machine that continued nonchalantly failing to function even after the rum bottle had met its tragic fate.

It was almost, thought Killian, as though the device didn’t care how many bottles came to an untimely end, it still had no intention of ever working.

He held out his hand with fingers curled like talons and let it hover menacingly over the machine before tightening it into a fist and shaking it. “I should bloody well smash you to bits,” he growled. “I should—”

He had no real idea of what he should do, beyond demolishing the bloody thing, heaving its carcass into the sea, and abandoning this foolhardy plan for good and all. It hardly mattered, though, as the machine made no reply—not so much as a tick of motion to indicate that it cared in the slightest about its own fate. Killian gritted his teeth and with effort reined in his temper. He reached for another rum bottle—there were always plenty standing by—and groped for a moment before he remembered he had the awl attachment connected to his brace and grabbed the bottle with his hand instead.

The bottle was stoppered with a tenuous scrap of cork; this Killian gripped between his teeth and dislodged with an expert twist of his neck, then spat it at the machine and watched as it struck the hammered copper facing with a satisfying thunk. He took the bottle to the porch of his hut—‘porch’ being the word with which he flattered the platform of weatherbeaten boards raised on hunks of driftwood—collapsed into the hammock strung across the corner of it and stared out to sea with the rum bottle cradled in his lap.

Tropical sun beat down on the shack and on the swaying palms that shaded it, and on the stretch of white beach that curved beyond it, and on the azure water glistening beneath the blazing sky. A tumbledown shack on a lonely atoll was not, so Killian had been given to understand, generally the sort of place in which most artificers chose to set up shop. They preferred tiny rooms atop winding staircases in tall university towers, so he was told, or for the more eccentric among them perhaps an derelict castle or even a dark forest hut. Somewhere close and damp and chill, where they could work by artful firelight draped in hooded cloaks and tuck the secrets of their craft safely away amongst the shadows.

Killian cared very little for such things, however, as he was not most artificers. He wasn’t, as has already been remarked, much of an artificer at all. A sailor by blood, a naval man by training, and a pirate by circumstance, this was Killian Jones. And now an artificer, by desperate last resort.

He took a long swig from his bottle and glared at the sea, at the ship that bobbed gently on the waves, anchored just to the left in the atoll’s curving bay. If he had any sense he’d end this foolishness, he thought with a bitter twist of his lip. He’d take his ship and find himself a crew, sail off and vent his frustrations on royal cargo vessels and navy frigates rather than haphazardly assembled collections of wood and scrap metal that would certainly never do more than than sit there smugly not working, taunting him, and—

Click.

Killian froze, with every muscle in his body. He waited. And waited. And—

Click.

Again. Killian exhaled slowly, cursing the faint vibrations of his breath in the air. He waited. And waited. And—

Click.

It was working.

—

A week later and Killian’s temper once again was hanging by the barest thread; the click of the device that had at first spurred him on now plucked at the frayed edges of his nerves and rattled inside his head each time he tried to focus. It was clicking, the mechanism was turning over, he had everything he’d thought he needed but still an element was missing, something vital that he couldn’t put his finger on, that hovered just at the edge of his perception like some fey spirit sent to taunt him.

Maybe you should just give up.

Killian spun around at the sound of the voice, a woman’s voice, with a wry tone and an unfamiliar accent. His eyes scanned the empty room. “Who’s there?” he called out, though it was plain to see no one was there. He was alone.

Quite alone.

He knew he was alone, of course, though the tingle between his shoulder blades did not concur, and remained even when he turned his attention back to his work. The sensation of being watched by unseen eyes is frequently a distracting one, but Killian stubbornly disregarded it and focused on his task. The sensation persisted.

He worked doggedly for several minutes, then set down his tools. “Lass,” he said to the room at large, “it’s bad form to stare.”

He swore he heard a chuckle.

“I do understand how it can be difficult for women to take their eyes off a devilishly handsome rapscallion such as myself,” Killian continued, “but I’m trying to work here so if you wouldn’t mind…”

He turned back to his workbench and as he did his elbow struck the edge of it, knocking over his latest rum bottle and sending a shooting pain up his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut and spat a stream of vicious curses and very nearly stabbed himself with the awl before recalling that he had no hand with which to cradle the afflicted elbow and rub away the pain. When it finally subsided and he opened his eyes once more, the sight that met them had him swearing a new and even bluer streak.

His device now sat bathed in a pool of rum, with sparks shooting from behind its copper face and very ominously not clicking. With a snarl Killian slammed his fist down on the table and ground it into the wood. He’d have to mop up the rum and wait at least a day or two to be certain whatever had seeped into the mechanism was completely dried before attempting to open it again to determine whether he could repair the damage. If he couldn’t he’d have to start over.

Or you could just give up.

“Are you responsible for this?” he demanded of the voice. “At long bloody last I was on the right track, and now—now—” He slammed his fist into his workbench again, sending rum droplets flying.

Look, don’t get cranky, mister. I’m just trying to stop you doing something stupid.

“Oh?” Killian snarled. “Is that what you’re doing? You’re a bit bloody late.”

What?

“I’ve done many a stupider thing than this, unhindered by any disembodied voices. You couldn’t have stopped me doing any of them?”

I—

“Where were you, for example, when I lost my brother in a cursed land, travelled back from that land, and then in a fit of rage burned the only method I had of returning there?” he demanded. “Where were you when I threw away my naval career, stole my brother’s ship, and led her crew into piracy? Where were you when I ravaged the land of my birth? Where were you when I fell in love with—” he broke off with a choking sound, then sat with his forearms resting on his knees, staring at his hand and at the leather brace where its twin should be. “I don’t know why I’m even saying this aloud,” he murmured, “you’re not truly here.” He ran his hand over his face then through his hair. “Perhaps I’m finally going mad. It’s an occupational hazard, or so I’ve been told.”

A breeze rustled through the shack, gentle and soothing. It whispered across his skin in what could only be called a caress. Despite himself, Killian felt comforted.

I’m sorry for what you’ve suffered. The voice’s compassion was undoubtedly genuine. But I couldn’t have prevented those things. They were not my business to See.

“And this is?” Killian demanded.

Yes.

He shook his head. “Who are you?”

There was no reply. The soothing breeze was gone, leaving the late afternoon air heavier and more still in its absence. His neck no longer tingled. He was alone. Again.

Always.

Killian pressed his fingers to his eyes and sighed, then grabbed a fresh bottle of rum—plus a second, upon further consideration—and headed out of the shack. Headed to the rowboat and the Jolly Roger, and, with any luck, a drunken stupor that would last until he could work on the device again.

“Hear this, lass,” he murmured as he paused in the doorway. “I will be back. I’m not giving up.”

We’ll see about that, whispered the voice, once he was gone.

—

Three days later and Killian’s hangover throbbed between his eyes, but his device was dry and in a less disastrous state than he’d feared. He tapped the magical stone that powered the mechanism until it sparked sharply in response, reconnected a few fine filaments of copper, snapped the gears back into place and held his breath.

Click.

Killian exhaled. It was still working.

Sort of.

He sat at his workbench and glared at the device, as though intensity alone could help him see what was missing in it. When it did not, he reached into his satchel with a long-suffering sigh, and withdrew a book.

He really should have gone to the books first. That’s what the other artificers had advised. Research before experimentation, a solid foundation of scholarship on which to build. In another life another Killian would have listened too, would have loved the prospect of hours, days, weeks spent in a library, absorbing the wondrous knowledge that it held. But that eager boy had long been lost, and the man who remained had spent too many years in wasted endeavours, hunting elusive magic beans and fairy wands, anything he heard of that he thought might aid his quest. When every lead he could scrounge all came to nothing he’d had no choice but to alter his course, and no bloody time to start from the beginning and do the thing properly. He’d already wasted so much time.

But perhaps, he conceded now, that had been a mistake.

The book had a weighty heft that testified its age, as did the brilliance of the jewelled ink on its vellum pages. Modern books with their rag-paper and plant inks were lighter, more fragile, less vibrant. Cheaper to produce of course, and more accessible, but the earnest, bespectacled scholar that still lived in Killian’s heart found them far more difficult to love. This book had been scribed centuries ago, by the hand of a monk whose name had long since vanished into time but whose skill was evident in the carefully crafted words and illustrations, the diagrams of fantastical devices that he had seen only with the eyes of his mind, never in reality.

Killian traced his finger over the lines of an engraving, squinting through his headache and the glaring sunshine to make out the tiny words that labelled it. With painstaking strokes he massaged his temples and let himself fall into the book, lost in study for the first time in many a year.

The hours sifted away like sand through his fingers, until a soft breeze ruffled through his hair and he became aware of that telltale tingle at the nape of his neck.

“Lass,” he said wryly, “has no one ever told you it’s rude to read over a person’s shoulder?”

It’s the only way I can find out what you’re up to.

“And just what prescisely makes that any of your concern?”

It just is. I can See it.

Though he could not have said how, Killian was certain she didn’t mean the sort of seeing one did with one’s eyes.

“So tell me then, what do you make of my choice of reading material?” he inquired.

Seems a bit dry.

He chuckled. “It is at that. But useful.”

You’re still planning to go ahead with it, then?

“I am. As I told you before, I don’t intend to give up.” A sharp smile flashed through his memory, the smell of sea salt on skin and in wind-whipped chestnut curls. His fist clenched. “I can’t.”

The breeze swirled up around him, wrapped itself about his shoulders in the gentlest embrace, and for a moment—just a moment—Killian let go. Let himself be comforted. Let himself relax. Tears prickled behind his eyes and his tired heart sighed. He swallowed hard.

You won’t find what you seek in this book, said the voice. Not what you really seek.

“Perhaps not. But it’s all I have left.”

Without warning the soft breeze stiffened, whipping up with force behind it and sending a half-full rum bottle teetering dangerously—but if Killian was prepared for anything these days it was betrayal. He caught the bottle before it could fall and set it safely aside, away from his device and his book and anything else that had the potential to be harmed by it.

“Nice try,” he sneered. The wind huffed a frustrated sigh.

This isn’t over.

“Why are you so determined to see me fail?” he demanded, but the words fell flat in the still and empty air—the absent prickle on the back of Killian’s neck informed him that she was gone again. “It’s not like I need any extra assistance in that area,” he grumbled. “I can fail perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.”

He bent to pick up the rum—a drink to soothe the ache in his heart—when his gaze caught on a diagram he hadn’t spotted before. He frowned and leaned closer, the rum forgotten, and began to read again. Soon he was absorbed once more, his eyes voracious as they scanned the pages. He made notes in the margins as he read, and tiny drawings and equations, and muttered half-formed thoughts to accompany the scratching of his pen. The clicks from his device soothed him now with their regular beat, and the tingle between his shoulder blades, when it returned, did not so much as register in his mind... though it lingered there as he worked, as the afternoon waned, until the sun began to sink below the horizon and Killian packed up his notes and his book and not his rum, and made his way back to his ship.

—

The next day found him in his workshop early, his mood uncharacteristically bright. He’d awoken that morning without a hangover for the first time in far longer than he cared to remember; the resulting clear head and sharp senses made the bright sunlight less oppressive in his perception, less like its exuberance was a judgement on his choices. Even his shack appeared cheerier than he recalled it, quaint rather than run-down, its slight slump to the left charming and not at all ominous. Killian was dangerously close to whistling a merry tune as he approached it, with his satchel slung over his shoulder and heavy with books.

He had brand new ideas to test.

His workshop itself consisted of the shack’s lone room and a single, long table that sat at the centre of it. On the table was his device, looking right at home there in the sense that it too was rickety, haphazardly constructed, and pitched to the left. Killian had told himself that the appearance of the thing didn’t matter so long as it functioned, but after it failed for so long to do even that he had begun to treat its exterior as a sort of whipping boy for his frustrations. The wooden casing bore deep gouges from his hook and other implements he’d attached to his brace; the copper facing was tarnished and dented. Hairline fractures criss-crossed the glass that covered the three small dials on the front and the long copper pole that was meant to be attached to the rear casing sat forlornly in a corner, looking as though it would dearly love the ability to rust, just as a way to express its feelings on the situation.

Looking at his device for the first time with clear eyes, Killian found that he felt rather bad. He really had made a dreadful hash of it. And although Killian Jones was frequently reckless, sometimes rash, and from time to time even a bit unhinged, he had never before been incompetent. Making a firm mental note to pick up some new materials the next time he made a supply run, he hefted the satchel onto his worktable, seated himself on the bench before it, and removed a book from the bag.

If he’d had two hands, he would have rubbed them together in glee.

Whatcha reading?

She appeared so suddenly that the prickle on his neck didn’t even have time to warn him. “I’m certain you can see the title for yourself, from wherever you are,” he replied.

Arithmetical Principles of the Mechanics of Time? Not very snappy.

“Never judge a book by its title, love.”

I thought that was by its cover.

“Title’s on the cover, isn’t it?”

So it is.

The voice sounded amused, and Killian chuckled to himself as he settled in to read. The tingle on the back of his neck remained as the unseen woman read along with him. He could feel her presence there, her eyes on him and on the book as he made his customary notes in the margins: quick diagrams and calculations and questions he would need to answer before he could proceed.

He was astonished to discover how engrossing the book was and how easy it was to lose himself in its pages, just as he had done the day before. How long had it been before then, since he’d allowed himself the luxury of a full day spent reading? Years, certainly. Time and tides, as the saying goes, wait for no man, and nor do rival pirate captains or deep-sea hellbeasts—they certainly do not wait for a man to finish his chapter before launching their attacks. Lazy days like this one took him back to his time in the naval academy, the long afternoons in the library there, the wonder he’d felt at all the knowledge contained in the books that surrounded him. An entire realm at his fingertips, just waiting for him to explore.

He had explored it in actuality years later on his ship, sailing her to the edge of the maps and beyond, but that first exposure to all the wonders the world held still shone as a jewel in his memory. For a young boy who until that moment had known only abandonment, drudgery, and abuse, the discovery that the world was far, far larger than he could ever have dreamt had been an invaluable treasure.

You love books.

Killian started; the voice sounded different now. It no longer echoed in his head, instead it seemed to come from somewhere to his right. He turned, and as he did perceived a shimmering in the hazy air, one that disappeared the moment he looked directly at it.

“I did,” he replied. “Once.” His mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Are you in my head, then, lass? Reading my thoughts?”

Of course not. It’s just obvious from your face.

“You’re familiar with the expression I’m wearing then, I take it? Perhaps because you’re inclined to wear it yourself?”

It was a shot in the dark, but it seemed to hit its mark. The shimmer grew more solid.

I—I’ve always loved to read. When I was a child it was all I had.

Something in the tone, a wistfulness perhaps, struck a chord in Killian. “You were alone, as child,” he said. “The books were your refuge.”

Yes.

Silence stretched for a moment, then he spoke again. “When I first arrived at the naval academy I could barely read,” he said slowly. “I was twelve years old. Where I come from literacy is a privilege of the wealthy, which my family was certainly not, but my mother’s father had been educated and he taught her to read and write. He was the younger son of a nobleman, disowned when he fell in love with a village girl. My mother in turn taught my father and also my elder brother. She had started to teach me as well but she grew ill and I was still so young, and then…” He trailed off, choked by the decades-old memory that still had the power to wound.

Then she died.

The voice was soft, so soft, and it settled around his shoulders like a blanket. He nodded. “Aye. She did.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes, just briefly, then continued. “After she passed, Liam, my brother, took over with my lessons, but there was never much time for such things. We were cabin boys on a large merchant ship by then, worked most days from dawn to dusk—but in what moments we had, we did try.” He shook his head. “Liam did the best he could, though our resources were so scarce his efforts produced little result. I was years behind the other lads my age at the academy at first, something they found highly entertaining.”

But you didn’t let that stop you.

“I did not,” he agreed. “Instead it spurred me on. In less than a year I had matched them, and in a year surpassed them. It was satisfying to make them eat their words, but in truth that was not my motivation.”

You wanted to know a world beyond the one you lived in.

“I wanted to know a world beyond the one I lived in.” He smiled at her, at the shimmering air in the corner of his eye that he almost fancied formed the shape of a woman. “As, I imagine, did you.”

Mmm.

Killian quirked an eyebrow at the shimmer. “Another orphan, I gather?” he pressed. “Alone in the world, unable to see a way out? Escaping into books for adventure, for a sense of the potential that lay beyond the narrow parameters of your life?”

You read me pretty well for someone who can’t even see me.

“You’re something of an open book, darling. If that metaphor isn’t too on the nose.” And perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t necessary to see someone to know them.

Faint laughter rang through the room. Open books read both ways, Killian Jones, her voice whispered, and then she was gone.

“Touché,” he muttered, as the tingle in his neck faded and a wave of magic pulsed in the air. A sharp snapping noise sounded from the device, followed by an echoing boingggg. Killian’s lips twitched. Softness followed by sabotage was becoming rather a thing with her.

He opened the casing and after a moment’s poking around in the mechanism identified the target of her attack—a small coupling in the box responsible for managing temporal currents. Killian felt himself grin. He was certain his unseen nemesis wouldn’t trouble herself to destroy anything that wasn’t crucial to the functioning of the device. He turned back to his book and flipped to the section on temporal flow.

“Thanks for the tip, love,” he murmured to the empty air.

—

Over the next month Killian worked doggedly on his research, leaving the device untouched and himself unhindered by tingles or voices or shimmery thickenings of the air. He read every book in his rather considerable collection, all the texts he’d… liberated from the universities and private collections of the realm’s best artificers then barely glanced into before he began constructing his device. He took a week off for a supply run, to collect the materials and bric-a-brac he’d need to construct the thing properly along with even more books, which he read eagerly at night on his ship, greedily absorbing the knowledge they contained as he lounged in his bunk.

Every day he thought about the voice, and about the very real woman he now felt certain was behind it. She wasn’t just a voice in his head, a symptom of madness or loneliness, or both. She existed, he had felt her, though he had never seen her face. He’d felt her presence and the connection between them—a peculiar sort of connection to be sure, but no less genuine for it.

The thought of speaking to her again helped spur him on.

Once he was back his workshop armed with resources in the form of both knowledge and supplies, he threw himself into a flurry of activity. He constructed shelves for his books, so he would not have to lug them to and from his ship every day. He built a sturdier workbench, with drawers to hold his tools, and a new, robust and polished casing and face for his device.

This was close work, requiring dexterity and concentration and the careful application of several magical items that had previously seemed to go out of their way to thwart him. As it turned out, Killian reflected wryly, he had simply been using them wrong. He still made mistakes, of course, and his lack of hand still proved a challenge. But gradually he found that he lost his temper less and less, that as he grew more knowledgeable and skilled he did not give in so easily or so frequently to despair.

He had almost entirely stopped drinking.

He spent a full week tweaking and refining the temporal current regulator in his device, until he was satisfied that not only near impervious to any further sabotage but also featured a clever adjustment of his own devising. Take that, Other Artificers.

He had done it. He knew he had. He had built his device and built it well. It would work now, and not because he threatened it or stumbled by happenstance upon the proper configuration. It would work because he knew what he was doing, and this time he’d done it right.

Killian Jones, artificer.

—

The stage was set.

The device was ready. More than ready. Its polished wood casing gleamed in the playful caress of the afternoon sunlight, which shimmered also off its copper facing and the smooth glass of its dials. The copper tube came up from where it was attached to the rear of the device and curved over the top of it, ending in a wide opening directly over Killian’s head. The rhythmic click of the mechanism was smooth and sonorous, each coupling attached and every gear well-oiled.

Click, went the device, tremulous and eager.

Click.

Every last thing was in readiness. Killian had only to flip the switch.

“You don’t want to do that.”

He paused with his finger poised above the small brass switch and smiled. “Back again, lass?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

The floorboards creaked, under boots that were not his. Leather rustled. Killian froze, then spun around. His jaw dropped.

“Bloody hell,” he gasped.

The woman stood in the centre of his workshop with her hands on her hips and lips curved in a wry smirk. Loose golden waves tumbled over her shoulders to frame an exquisite, fine-boned face and eyes that glinted green. She was dressed... well, she was dressed as no woman he’d ever seen before, in tall boots and tight-fitting trousers with no overskirt to cover them, and a leather jacket in the most outrageous shade of red. Killian blinked.

“You’re—I’m—what?” he choked.

“I said, you don’t want to do that,” she repeated. “If you do, you’ll blow a hole in the universe or—or something, I don’t exactly know. But it’s bad, and I can’t allow it to happen.”

Killian shook his head. He blinked again, harder this time, then rubbed his eyes. The woman was still there.

“What?” he shouted.

“Seriously?” snapped the woman. “You heard my voice in your head and didn’t even blink and I know you felt my presence. But now I’ve actually manifested and suddenly you’re at a loss for words? I thought at least I’d get some kind of smartass quip out of you. ‘At last a face to match the voice, lass’ or something.” She shrugged a single shoulder. “I don’t know. Something.”

“That’s—” Killian’s voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “That’s your idea of a clever quip?”

She scowled. “Look, I said I don’t know. You’re the smartass.”

“Well you might at least give a man a minute to adjust his premises before you start demanding cleverness from him, when you appear from out of nowhere in his workshop,” retorted Killian. “There is in fact a world of difference between voices in the head and full fledged hallucinations, you know.”

“I’m not a hallucination,” she huffed.

Killian knew that of course, but he still felt on rather shaky ground, metaphysically speaking. “Well what are you then?” he demanded.

“I’m a manifestation,” she replied, as though it were obvious.

“Oh yes of course,” he shot back. “A manifestation, how foolish of me not to have known that.”

She rolled her eyes. He smirked.

“A manifestation of whom, precisely, if I might enquire?” he drawled.

“Emma Swan,” she proclaimed, in a tone one might use to announce the arrival of a queen. “Witch.”

Killian regarded her with his smirk firmly in place, to which he now added a raised eyebrow. “A witch, you say?”

“Yep.”

“Indeed.”

She sauntered over to his workbench, hips swaying in a manner that Killian told himself firmly he did not find enticing, and leaned over, peering at the device. “This looks a lot better than the last time I saw it,” she remarked.

“Yes, well, I’ve been working hard since then.”

“I can tell.” She flashed him a look that had his muscles tensing. “Too bad it’s all for nothing.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed—”

“Why do you want to travel in time anyway?” she interrupted, turning to face him and crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s a risky business, you know. Loads of people have tried and it never ends well for any of them.”

“That’s rather a bold statement from you, love, considering you are clearly not from this time,” he retorted.

“What makes you say that?”

Killian let his gaze sweep over her. “Red leather jackets aren’t exactly in vogue here,” he said loftily. “I’d be very surprised if they even exist. How did you get it to be that colour?”

“How the hell should I know, I didn’t make it!”

“Fair enough. Still stands out like a sore thumb, though.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not staying then.”

“Aren’t you?” Killian felt a twist in his gut at that; he was so enjoying sparring with her. “Shame. I suppose you ought to run along then, and let me get back to my work.”

“Ah, no. That I can’t do.”

“And might I enquire why not?”

Her expression, which had been sparking with the same joy of snarky battle that Killian felt himself, grew solemn. “If you’re successful then the repercussions of your work will echo all the way into my realm, in my time,” she said. “And I can’t allow that to happen.”

“Indeed?” he taunted, before he could prevent himself. “And just how do you propose to stop it?”

Her eyes flashed. “Oh you are so going to regret asking that.”

She raised her hand and twisted it, the merest flick of her wrist that sent a powerful pulse of energy through the room. He felt it throb through his body and he was rocked by its wave. What followed was silence.

Silence. No clicks. Not a one.

Killian spun round in fury and glowered down at Emma Swan, witch, who did not so much as flinch away from him. On the contrary, she appeared quite pleased with herself, and thoroughly unfazed by his very finest pirate snarl.

“I’ve never managed that so successfully cross-realms before,” she remarked.

Killian’s temper snapped. “What the bloody buggering fuck do you think you’re doing?” he roared. Her nonchalance was infuriating.

“I told you,” she reminded him coolly. “I can’t allow you to succeed.”

“I wasn’t succeeding, though, was I?” he hissed. “I’ve been not succeeding for the best part of a year now.”

“I know.” Her smug expression softened into an empathy that set his teeth on edge. “But that was about to change.”

“Oh was it?”

“Yep.”

He knew it was. But she... “And how the bloody hell could you possibly know that?”

“I told you, I’m a witch.”

He scoffed. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

“Well... yeah, I guess it kind of is.” She frowned. “You know what a witch is, right?”

“Of course I do. A witch is a person, most commonly a female, who is possessed of magical or supernatural powers, typically focused on medicine, the body, nature, and the spirit,” Killian recited.

Emma blinked. “That’s… very precise.”

“I’m well versed in defining the various types and levels of magical practitioner,” he informed her. His surge of anger was draining away and he found he lacked both the energy and will to hold on to it. “The Guild is most insistent that registration be precise.”

“Guild?” Her frown deepened. “Registration?”

“Aye. To both.”

“You had to register? With a guild?”

“I did.”

“Register as what?”

“As an artificer, of course. Despite my lack of skill in the discipline, the Guild insisted. Firmly. Fists were involved.”

“I—see.” Her lips twitched. “That seems unethical.”

He barked a laugh. “Welcome to the Enchanted Forest, love.”

Emma’s eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. “Is that where this is?”

“Aye. Though strictly speaking this”—he gestured at the space around them—“is on an atoll in the Far Southern Sea. But the Artificers’ Guild is in the Enchanted Forest, and they care very little for such things as venue or jurisdiction.” He looked at her curiously. “Didn’t you know?”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “I’m not really here, you see.”

Killian had been so caught up first in wonder then in fury that he hadn’t truly looked at her, at least not beyond what was required to note her striking beauty and odd attire. A manifestation, she had called herself, and once he knew what to look for it was plain to see—the faint translucence and hazy outline of her form. Cautiously, he reached out his hand. It went right through her shoulder, with no more resistance than water in a bathtub.

“Huh,” he said. “Curious. So where exactly are you then, Emma Swan, witch, if you’re not here?”

“I’m…” Emma’s brow furrowed and her nose wrinkled. Killian told himself sternly that it was unwise to find a nose adorable when it sat on the face of the corporeal manifestation of a witch from an unspecified realm. “Well, I don’t really know how to describe it,” she said. “I’m on Earth. About three hundred years in your future. Though I suppose this must be Earth too, really.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. I think so? What do you call it? This… place. Bigger than the Enchanted Forest. You… you know there’s a place bigger, right? Beyond the, um, the forest?”

His lip quirked. Her stumbling attempts to explain were also not adorable. “That I do, lass,” he replied. “I spent years sailing the seas of this realm and have travelled to many a land.”

“You’ve travelled the Earth, then,” said Emma. “Or your equivalent of it. What would you call it?”

“Terra, I believe is what you mean.”

“Yes!” She snapped her fingers then pointed the index one at him. “That’s got to be it!”

“So if I understand you, you’re saying you come from Terra as well, but a different version of it, which you call Earth?”

She gave an eager nod. “Yeah, basically. My Earth was called Terra once too, by people who lived in my past, in a different country. But in my language and my time and my country we say Earth.”

“I... see,” said Killian.

“Yeah.” Emma looked a bit sheepish and waved her hand in a vague arc. “It’s a whole thing with multiverses I don’t really understand, if I’m honest. I’m not a wizard, you see.”

“No indeed. Nor I.”

“Well, I mean, you’re not even much of an artificer. Or at least not until recently.”

She was attempting to tease, he could tell. To keep the mood light between them. But all he could hear was the death knell of his last resort, the only hope he had left of honouring his vow. Without warning, the weight of everything he’d been through, a lifetime of struggle and defeat culminating in his attempt to build a time machine that would apparently destroy multiple realms were it allowed to succeed, settled on his shoulders. It was all he could do not to collapse beneath it. He sank down onto the bench and ran his hand down his face.

“No. That I certainly am not.”

He sensed rather than felt Emma sit down beside him—there was barely more than a shift in the air to mark her movement.

“I’m not an artificer, not even now,” he told her, staring at his hand and brace. “All I am is a desperate man looking to right a terrible wrong.”

“A wrong you need to go back in time to fix?” she asked gently.

“Aye.”

“What happened?”

Killian clenched his jaw. He did not wish to discuss Milah. He never actually had, though others besides Emma had tried to make him, insisting he would feel better if he spoke of it. If he gave vent to his anger and his grief. But he could not—the words caught in his throat each time he tried, stopped by the anger that sat hard and curdled in his chest.

“There was… a woman,” he ground out, faintly astonished to hear the words fall from his lips. “I loved her and she me, but she was married to another. A cringing coward of a man who valued his own comfort and meagre security above her happiness and her health.” He breathed slowly through the anger that still rose up at the thought of it. “She tried her best with him, for years she tried, but ultimately she came to realise that he would never change. She saw the remainder of her life stretched out before her, a grim slog through a grey world of misery, and she knew she had to do something, whatever was necessary to change it. For the sake of her own survival.” He risked a glance at Emma. “But she was a woman, thus her options were limited.”

“So she ran away with you,” said Emma. He searched her face for judgment, but there was none.

He nodded. “She ran away with me.”

“You saved her life,” she said harshly. “But you shouldn’t have had to.”

He blinked, startled at her tone, and watched as her face grew tight with anger. “In my land and my time, women have choices,” she hissed. “We have to fight for them every day, but we have them. We can leave marriages and we can have jobs and we can own our own houses and have our own lives. We don’t rely on men unless we choose to.” She looked up to meet his eyes. “I’m guessing that’s not the case here?”

“You guess correctly.” Killian’s voice was choked, his chest drawn tight by the depth of her compassion. Compassion for a woman she’d never met, who had died long before her time. He cleared his throat. “Milah had nowhere to go and no means to go there. I offered her an escape. It was all I could do.”

A moment passed before Emma spoke again.

“What went wrong?” she asked.

His lip curled. “I expect you can guess.”

He could sense the catch in her breath, though it made no sound in the quiet room. “Her husband found you?”

“Aye. Rather a predictable storyline, isn’t it? But there's an unpleasant twist to this tale, I fear.”

“What twist?” she demanded.

Killian swallowed. “Have you heard of the Dark One?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Well, yes. I’ve read the lore of course, but… are you saying the Dark One is real?”

“Very much so.”

He watched as comprehension dawned in her eyes. “And he—your—Milah’s husband—”

“Had become the Dark One, aye. At the cost of his soul, of course, but for some men that's a small price to pay to punish an errant wife.”

“Wow. I mean—wow.”

“I’m not familiar with that particular expression but it certainly seems to suit the case,” said Killian drily. “Wow indeed.”

“He murdered her, didn’t he?” Emma said, in a voice like the lash of a whip. It was not a question.

“On the deck of my ship,” Killian replied, “as I watched, helpless to prevent it. He tore her heart from her chest and he crushed it to dust.” He held up his brace, catching the sunlight on the curve of his hook. “And then he took my hand.”

Emma exhaled, long and slow. “So that’s why you want to go back. To stop her murder.”

This was also not a question, but he answered it nonetheless. “Aye. I promised to protect her and I failed. I have to make it right.”

“You know you can’t do that, Killian.”

The empathy in her voice, the understanding, the way she said his name… Killian’s anger rose again and he snapped at her. “Well not now that you’ve destroyed my bloody time machine!”

“You couldn’t have anyway.”

“And just how the devil—”

“Look, I told you, I’m not a wizard,” said Emma insistently. She shifted on the bench until she was facing him fully, one leg tucked beneath the other. “I don’t know all the ins and outs of how the universe works, or like, the multiverse or whatever. All I know is that if you turn on that machine it will blow a hole in all of it. Every realm and at every time would be destroyed. It would end the world.”

Killian scowled as his mind sought frantically for a loophole, a counterpoint, a way. His fist was tightly clenched and pressed hard against his thigh, his breathing shallow. “The books said—”

“The books don’t know,” she interrupted in that same insistent tone. “No one’s ever done this before. No one’s ever even come close.”

“And here I thought I wasn’t much of an artificer,” he sneered.

“Like I said before. You weren’t.”

Killian thought of all the reading he’d done, the careful cross-referencing of books that likely had never before been seen by the same pair of eyes. He thought of his temporal current regulator, the refinements he’d made to it. How certain he was that it would work.

He looked over at Emma to find her watching him, with gentle sympathy and not a hint of pity. “You can’t go back, Killian,” she said softly. “The past has already happened. All you can do is go forward.”

“So what you’re telling me is I need to move on,” he snarled. How he loathed that expression.

She nodded. “In more ways than one.”

Cautiously she reached out and placed her hand over his clenched fist, and though he could not feel her touch he felt it, the warmth of her compassion and her strength and her magic, drawn from another realm in another time. He let his hand relax and held it, palm up, beneath hers. He drew a deep, unsteady breath and then released it. Then he drew another.

They sat in silence for some time.

“I can’t recall the last time I considered what Milah would think if she could see what I was doing,” said Killian, finally, in a low voice. “I thought about her all the time, at first. But then… it got to the point where every time thoughts of her came into my head I would drink them straight out of it.”

“Because you knew that if she could see you she wouldn’t like what she saw.”

“Because I knew that if she could see me she wouldn’t like what she saw,” he echoed. “She wouldn’t have wanted me to lose myself in this—obsession. But then I have always been prone to obsession and she knew that better than anyone.”

“Obsession is just another word for intense dedication,” declared Emma, “once you add a bit of healthy perspective to it. It’s sincere devotion to what you value. Maybe all you need is just to shift your focus a bit. Find something new to work on, and another motivation to drive you.”

“Something new,” he repeated, then gave a hoarse, choking laugh. “I confess I’ve no idea what that could be.”

“You’ll find something.” The look in her eyes as she watched him was amused, wry, soft, and sad all at once. An odd sensation twisted in his chest. “I wish—” she began, then broke off with a shake of her head.

Killian realised their hands were still clasped. He wished he could close his fingers around hers, truly feel the touch of them against his skin. “What do you wish, love?” he pressed.

She shook her head again. “It’s just—after today I won’t be able to See you anymore. Once you’re no longer a threat you’ll stop appearing in my visions. I just wish I could watch what you do next, that’s all." She flashed him a grin. "I have a feeling it’ll be something epic.”

He laughed and after a moment she joined him, with a tinkling, joyous sound that made his heart feel lighter than perhaps it ever had. Maybe she was right, he thought. Maybe he could do something different. Something not driven by loss or anger or greed. “I don’t know if I can promise epic,” he told her. “But I do promise I'll do something. Something important to me. I promise you, Emma Swan.”

She smiled, gorgeous and heartbreaking. “Good.”

Killian could swear he felt her hand tightening on his, felt it in the echoing squeeze in his chest. He heard her next words before she spoke them.

“I have to go.”

He forced himself to nod. “I know.”

She reached up with her free hand and traced her fingertips across his cheek. “Goodbye, Killian Jones,” she whispered… and then she was gone.

Killian sat alone in his workshop with an empty hand and a silent machine, and a brand new ache in his heart. And for the very first time in a life full of loss, he allowed himself to grieve.

—

Killian didn’t drink.

He wanted to. The rum called to him, a siren’s song of numb oblivion, but that was a pit into which he no longer wished to fall. He had things to do now, crucial things, and they required a clear head.

He took the Jolly Roger and he sailed away, far across the seas to a place he'd sworn he’d never go again. The small port village where Milah had lived, and where she’d died. Whose harbour he’d put at his bow for less than an hour before he’d tipped her body into the depths of the sea.

It was the nearest thing he had to a gravestone.

He stood on the deck with his hand on the railing, staring down into the choppy waves below. His throat ached and his chest felt tight.

“I’m so sorry, Milah,” he whispered. “Sorry that I failed in my promise to protect you. Sorry that when I lost you I lost myself as well. I let myself fall so deeply into despair that I lost sight of who I was—and in doing so I sacrificed the man you loved. I’m sorry I became something you’d have hated me to be.” His throat closed up and he swallowed through it, forced the next words out. “When you died I swore to avenge you, but my love, I think—” he exhaled slowly “—I think I have to let you go.”

A brisk wind swept in off the water and ruffled through his hair as Milah’s fingers used to do. It stroked his cheek with the touch of her lips and whispered with her voice in his ear.

I love you, it said. Go.

Killian let his eyes fall shut as he breathed in the scent of her skin, closed his fist in her curls one final time. When he opened them again he was alone.

Alone, but for the first time in many a year, hopeful.

The past is done, he thought, and can’t be changed. All you can do is move forward.

Somewhere, some time, there was a green-eyed witch with golden curls and a sharp tongue and the softest heart he’d ever known. One who could read him like a book and understand the story it told. And he was an artificer who knew how to build a bloody time machine.

It was time to move on.

—

The afternoon was warm and hazy as it often is in August on the coast of Maine. The air was heavy and humid and buzzing with the hum of bees and midges as they swarmed and bumbled their way through late-summer flowers. Flowers that bloomed in full riotous colour in the remarkable garden of a thoroughly unremarkable grey clapboard house.

A figure approached the garden gate, tall and oddly dressed for this realm. He wore a long and sweeping leather coat over an ornately embroidered waistcoat, tall leather boots and a matching heavy satchel slung across his back. He paused, and regarded the gate with a raised eyebrow and all the deference he could muster.

Killian Jones knew magic when he sensed it.

“May I come in, lass?” he inquired of the air and the gate and the bumblebees, and whomever else might happen to be listening.

The gate swung open.

Killian favoured it with a small bow then sauntered through it, through the bright and fragrant garden and up to the porch steps and the door atop them. It opened as he approached to reveal a woman with long curling hair, a tight white tank top and very short shorts. She placed a hand on her hip and smirked.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

Killian climbed the porch steps and dropped his satchel, hooked a thumb beneath his belt buckle and treated her to his flirtiest grin. “Time is relative, I think you’ll find,” he replied. “Also an illusion. And there are some philosophers who claim that—”

His words were cut off by Emma’s lips, her fingers tight on the lapels of his coat as she pulled him in close. She was solid and real against his chest, her mouth hot and her skin so soft. Killian groaned as he sank his fingers into her hair, as he kissed her back with everything he’d held in his heart since he saw her last.

The kiss was short but rich with feeling, with potential, with hope. When it ended they paused for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s breath.

Emma spoke first. “You came forward,” she said. “You actually did it.” She laughed, and thumped her fist lightly against his chest. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”

“Aye, well, as it turns out, I’m a hell of an artificer,” he replied, and she laughed again. He pulled her against him, wrapped his arms tight around her and sighed as she tucked her head beneath his chin.

“And the rest of it?” she inquired softly. “Milah, and the Dark One—”

He took a moment to consider how to answer. There were many things he could say, so much he wanted to tell her. But it would wait. They had time. In the end he said simply, “I’ve made my peace. It’s done.”

“Good.” She looked up at him with that glorious smile and his heart sang with happiness. “That’s good.”

—

@ohmightydevviepuu @thisonesatellite @katie-dub @kmomof4 @mariakov81 @stahlop @spartanguard @killianjones-twopointoh @captain-emmajones

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mariakov81 · 5 years ago

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Happy birthday dear @profdanglaisstuff !

I know that this story is very-very special (that is why I wanted to make something for it 😇). I wish you all your days to be the happiest ones!

#profdanglaisstuff #cs ff rec #happy birthday #you are awesome

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shireness-says · 4 years ago

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The Set-Up Scam

Summary: They’ve always been friends first and foremost - Emma and Killian, Killian and Emma - until suddenly, they’re something a little more too. But with a $600 betting pool on the line about when they’ll actually get together - well, maybe there’s incentive to keep the good news a secret. ~5.5k. Rated T for language. Also on Ao3.

~~~~~

A/N: Merry Christmas, @nevertothethird! I was delighted to be your pair for @cssecretsanta2020. It’s been wonderful chatting with you, and I look forward to a full stalking. ;)

You said you liked secret dating, friends to lovers, and characters being forced to work together - so I, like a fool, tried to include all three. I hope you like the result!

Special thanks, as always, to my beta, @snidgetsafan - the greatest treasure under any tree.

Tagging: @ohmightydevviepuu, @welllpthisishappening, @thisonesatellite, @let-it-raines, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @thejollyroger-writer, @superchocovian, @teamhook, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @searchingwardrobes, @katie-dub, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @phiralovesloki, @profdanglaisstuff

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

They’re friends, first and foremost. Best friends, really - Killian and Emma, Emma and Killian. Partners in crime and two peas in a pod and every other cliché there is (and Killian would definitely know all of them). It’s been that way since the very beginning, when Killian let her peek at his attendance quiz answers in that awful intro to astronomy class in college. Their relationship had grown from there: late nights in the library and each others’ dorm rooms, studying or watching movies or chatting, all the way through graduation and eventually grad school. They get each other in a way that usually doesn’t happen for Emma, both coming from rough backgrounds and determined to make the world a better place because of it. Hell, they even work together now at Misthaven County Middle School - Killian as an English teacher, and Emma as a guidance counselor.

And all that time, it’s been strictly platonic.

It’s not like Emma hasn’t looked. He’s an objectively good looking man, and smart and sweet and funny. But he’d been in some “it’s complicated” situation with a grad student when they’d met, and then Emma was in that weird period where she and Graham gave it a shot, and by the time they were both available… well, by that time, they’d been Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. A collective, a pair, absolutely entwined every way but romantically. He’d become her person, and it wasn’t worth risking that. There was no guarantee a romantic relationship would work out, anyways - or that Killian felt the attraction too.

The thing, though, is that they’re Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. Always together, always in each other’s stories, two birds of a feather. People constantly think that they’re together - or should be.

Emma doesn’t really mind, most of the time. She and Killian usually think it’s pretty funny, trading stories back and forth on his or her couch. Where it gets annoying is when each and every one of their friends are determined they should be dating. It’s been years of meaningful looks and hints about “so why aren’t you seeing anyone, Emma?” - but the last straw is the stupid, stupid bet.

“I just don’ unnerstand why you and Killian aren’t a couple!” slurs Mary Margaret, assistant principal and friend, at her yearly end-of-summer bash. “You’re ovviously in loooooooooove.”

“Sure we are, Mary Margaret,” Emma placates.

“But why haven’t you yet?” she demands. “You made me lose the pool!”

That draws Emma up short. “I’m sorry, what?”

The little pixie-haired brunette frowns. “Don’t you know? We’ve had a betting pool going for ages about when you’d get together this year. I thought for sure it’d be the Fourth of July.”

It’s a good guess, actually - Ruby throws a famously boozy bash every year at her grandmother’s diner, conveniently situated right below the inn. It’d make sense for them to get drunk and take things upstairs - except for the fact that none of this is rooted in sense in any way, shape, or form.

“That obviously didn’t happen,” Mary Margaret frowns sorrowfully, staring down into her plastic cup full of god-knows-what. It doesn’t last long, though, as she perks right back up. “But they let me make a new guess! I’ve got my money on the Friday after your birthday.”

“How much money are we talking here?” Emma can’t help but ask. It’s like a compulsion, one she doesn’t like or understand.

“Five hundred and fifty dollars.” At least that’s what she thinks Mary Margaret says; the slurring gets particularly bad on the f-sounds. It’s an astounding sum. Truly stupid.

Kind of tempting.

“And everyone bet that it would happen this year?” she makes sure to clarify.

“Yup!” Mary Margaret pops the p-sound and then giggles to herself about the noise.

“Then I’m putting fifty dollars on it not happening this year. That Killian and I won’t get together.”

———

She means it at the time, too. Because yeah, there’s sometimes that niggling little what if?, but they’ve known each other for eight years. Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. It’s not going to happen - honestly she’s not even sure she would want it to.

Until.

It’s not the Friday after her birthday, when they’re all going to hit the bar, but it’s the night before her birthday - a Tuesday. Killian comes over to grade vocab quizzes and eat greasy pizza, and stays to drink beer and watch stupid baking shows with her on the couch. Honestly, in so many ways, it’s a night like any other: two friends, just enjoying each other’s company.

Until.

Maybe it’s the beers. Maybe something’s been building for longer than she ever thought. Maybe it’s just that they’re both feeling good and, well, it is her birthday. But Killian kisses her - or she kisses Killian - they kiss each other and it’s like something slots into place. Like of course this was going to happen - they were just waiting for the perfect moment. It makes sense, in a way that Emma hasn’t let herself think about; he’s the person she trusts most, the best man she knows, probably the most important person in her life. Her best friend - and, probably, something more.

“That was…” he gasps, some indeterminable amount of time later. Somehow, he’s wound up on top of her on the couch - not that she’s complaining.

“Only the beginning,” Emma completes, smirking in a way she definitely picked up from him.

Now that this has started, she has no intention of stopping.

———

“Ok, don’t kill me - or, like, run away immediately - but I need a favor. A huge one,” Emma says much later, both of them naked and sated beneath her sheets.

Killian laughs beside her, peering up from the pillows with a smile. “After that, darling, I’m predisposed to give you just about anything you want.”

“And I’ll give it to you again,” she quips back, mostly to make him keep laughing. It works. “But seriously. Did you know that everyone’s got a bet going on us?”

That pops his head up. “I’m sorry, a bet? I… What? Who?”

“Seems like pretty much everyone. Ruby, Mary Margaret, David, Robin, Belle… I could go on and on. A six hundred dollar pool on when we get together.”

“Typical,” Killian mutters - though Emma catches a fond note in his tone. “Who’s the lucky winner, then?”

“Ok, this is where the favor comes in.” Hopefully this isn’t a breaking point for him; Emma would hate to have this taste of them, only to have it ripped away from her. “See, Mary Margaret told me about this when she got trashed at the back to school party, and I’d had a few too and was all hopped up on righteous fury or whatever, and I kind of… put fifty dollars in the pot that we wouldn’t get together this year at all.”

Killian stares at her for a moment, and Emma’s frankly scared that he’s going to get out of bed and go - but instead, he bursts into a near-hysterical cackle. “So you want to keep this a secret until the new year, so you can win the pot?”

Emma grins, knowing she must look like the cat that ate the canary (or however that weird-ass saying goes - again, English is Killian’s thing). “Exactly. We could spend it on a weekend getaway or something.”

“I’m in, then. Under the radar.”

“It’s just two months and change,” Emma says. “It’ll speed by. How hard can it be?”

———

Turns out - their friends are determined to make it as hard as possible. Even if they don’t know it.

Things are fine, at first. In fact, nothing really changes: Emma and Killian still show up at each others’ doors most nights, and Killian comes to hang out and grade papers in her office during his free periods most days. It’s just that their evenings are now filled with kisses and touches, and those afternoons in her office with all kinds of promises of things to come. It’s thrilling, in a way, to put on the front of normality for everyone else while only they know the truth. It’s nice, too, to be able to get their feet underneath them in this relationship without so many prying eyes watching them figure it all out.

Just because they don’t know, though, doesn’t mean their friends stop trying. There’s a bet on the line, after all, and their friends have never exactly been ones to step back and let things naturally run their course. Not for those busybodies; not with six hundred dollars and Emma and Killian’s supposed happiness on the line.

(The fact that they’re right - that the two of them really are happiest together - is irrelevant.)

David, of all people, is the first to start meddling.

“Do you guys want to get dinner?” he asks out of the blue one day - calls Emma up on her phone and everything. “You and Killian and me and Mary Margaret, I mean.”

Emma’s antenna raises immediately. “What, like a double date? C’mon, David —”

“No! No,” he says hastily - a little too hastily, Emma thinks. “No, a cousin of mine - Kris, you’ve met him - he’s opening up his own restaurant. Some place with Scandinavian food, I guess?”

“That’s actually a thing?”

“I guess. I don’t know, he studied abroad in Norway in college. Anyways, he could use a little business, support or whatever, so Mary Margaret and I figured we’d bring some extra people along. You know, help him out. And maybe Scandinavian food is good after all.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The line sits silent for a moment, before David breaks. “So… you in?”

And as much as Emma suspects this is all some elaborate set-up - well, it’s supposed to be to help someone else. David’s cousin, who she has in fact met and is really a good guy. And so she reluctantly agrees. “Yeah, I’m in. One of us will have to check with Killian if he’s available —”

“What, he’s not right there with you?”

(He is, his lips kiss-swollen and pulled into a delicious smirk, but that’s not the point and none of David’s business.)

“ — but yeah, I’m down.”

In the week between the call and the dinner, Emma actually finds herself starting to look forward to it. Yeah, it won’t be a real date - not with David and Mary Margaret there - but it’s still a chance to wear a pretty dress that’ll make Killian’s eyes bug a little. She’ll have to pick something he’ll have fun taking off of her later, once they’ve pretended to go back to their own homes.

Emma’s just pulling into the parking lot, however, when her phone rings, David’s name popping up on the screen.

“We’re not going to make it tonight,” he says without preamble, followed by the most fake-ass cough Emma’s ever heard in her life. “We’re sick.”

“Yeah, sick off your own lies,” Emma mutters. “Alright, well, I guess we’ll go another time —”

“Oh no, I insist you guys still have dinner. You and Killian deserve to have a night off!”

“David, c’mon, don’t play dumb —”

He ignores her. “Besides, you’ll be doing me - and Kris - a huge favor. I already told him to charge whatever you guys get to me. Splurge a little, have dessert and a bottle of wine. It’s all on me.”

Killian climbs out of his own car as David pleads his case, cocking his head in confusion at the no doubt frustrated look on Emma’s face. He looks like he wants to kiss it better; Emma wishes he could actually do so.

“Fine,” she caves. “If you’re sure. But I’m running up the bill.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise.”

Emma takes particular glee in ending the call. She should have seen this coming. “Looks like David has come down with a possibly fatal cough, so he and Mary Margaret aren’t coming tonight,” she tells Killian, rolling her eyes. No need to resist that particular urge.

He snorts. “Ah, liar-itis. I thought he might be coming down with a case.”

“Complicated by meddler’s cough. Don’t forget that.”

“Of course not.” He dips down to capture her lips in a gentle, lingering kiss - another urge they don’t have to resist with none of their friends around to see it. “You look lovely tonight, Swan.”

She smirks back. “I know.”

“Of course you do,” he laughs. “I’m sure you wore that just to torment me through dinner. Now, shall we?”

“We shall.” Emma slips her hand through his offered arm. “Dinner’s on David, by the way.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

———

“So, how was dinner?” David asks the next day, his cough mysteriously cleared up.

“Good,” Emma replies, knowing exactly what he’s digging for. “Your cousin’s got a good lingonberry cheesecake. Don’t worry, Killian and I totally ran up the bill. Kris has been well supported. You’re welcome.”

“And?” he demands.

Emma makes sure to play up her confusion. “And… what? It was a great dinner, might even go back if I ever have a date, and then I went home. Honestly, what did you expect to happen, David?”

Even through the phone, she can almost hear him audibly deflate. Something like a sigh, or perhaps the sound of his entire plan collapsing in on itself. Personally, Emma thinks it’s hilarious.

(It’s especially funny when she vividly remembers the way Killian had stripped her out of that dress, can still feel the scratch of his beard on her inner thighs.)

(But again - those are things that David doesn’t need to know.)

———

The set-ups multiply like rabbits, and Emma starts to notice her and Killian being forced into more and more situations together, just the two of them. Fuck only knows why they think these clumsy attempts will work; after all, Emma and Killian held out for 8 years of each other’s company before finally getting together (without anyone’s help, she might add). Still,

Trivia night is a weekly tradition for them all, down at the Rabbit Hole. Some weeks, the turnout is good; sometimes, not so much. They usually meet up at someone’s house and carpool from there because there’s not a ton of parking spots outside the bar, and it’s always worked well - two, maybe three cars instead of a half dozen or more. It’s a good time, and Emma always finds herself looking forward to Thursdays.

Tonight, they’ve met at Robin’s, Killian’s former roommate. It’s a good crowd tonight, too - Robin and his fiance Marian, Mary Margaret with David, Belle the librarian, Ruby and Mulan, even Graham and Lance and Tink. The gang’s all here, probably trying to let loose a bit before holiday obligations set in, and they’re raring to go - all twelve of them.

Emma hopes that it’s not planned - that there just happen to be two cars and then some worth of people here - but it’s more likely planned. Robin probably twisted their arms to come, just for this.

“Emma, would you mind checking the door one more time?” he calls as they congregate in the driveway. “I’m sure I locked it, but I’ve just got that niggling little feeling…”

“Sure, no problem.” And it isn’t - it’s checking the damn door. Except it’s actually winding down his stupidly picturesque front garden path to the front door, and then having to maneuver around the always-unlocked outer glass door to make sure that the real door is locked, and then maneuvering and winding and everything back… and by the time Emma makes it back, everyone’s already piled into Mary Margaret’s station wagon and Robin’s little SUV, even the middle seats everyone usually hates, leaving just the conniving man himself and Killian standing on the asphalt.

“Sorry, looks like the two of you will be riding together,” Robin says, not seeming remotely sorry. “This is convenient anyways! I know how much time you two spend together, if you decide that it’s easier to crash together afterwards… it wouldn’t be a problem for the extra car to stay here overnight.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t be,” Emma grumbles. “I don’t suppose you have any underlying motive here, do you Robin? Say, to the tune of six hundred dollars?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he responds cheerily. “I just really, really want you to know that you can keep your options open. And, you know, other euphemistic things if the urge moves you.”

Asshole.

(Emma does not leave her car at Robin’s overnight - but that doesn’t stop Killian from meeting her at her place afterwards.

“This euphemistic enough for you, love?” he teases as Emma pulls at his shirt, trying to tug the cotton tee over his head.

“How’s this for a euphemism: fuck me.”

“That’s not exactly how that word works, Swan.”

“I could not possibly give fewer shits about semantics than I do right now, Killian, unless it somehow relates to you getting your pants off.”

Somehow, even in the midst of their frantic stripping, he manages to laugh. “As you wish.”

She’s always preferred straight talking anyways.)

———

“Thank god I found you both!” Mary Margaret declares, bursting into Emma’s office a little too dramatically for her tastes. Until now, she and Killian had been having a wonderful lunch together, but that’s obviously a thing of the past now.

“That seems a little extreme for a Friday,” Killian comments mildly as he sets his cafeteria burger back down on the styrofoam tray. Personally, Emma thinks the cafeteria food is disgusting, but Killian’s got a real fondness for the cheeseburgers, and especially the french fries. No one’s perfect, she guesses. “What terrible impending tragedy can Emma or I save you from, Mary Margaret?”

“Kathryn’s father is in the hospital, so she and Fred can’t work their assigned booth at the Winter Carnival tomorrow.” Storybrooke County School District’s charity carnival is a tradition every winter - one Mary Margaret takes very seriously. Something that’s clearly about to come back and bite them all in the ass. “Would you two be able to cover tomorrow? You’d be doing me such a huge favor…”

Killian raises a single eyebrow as he turns to meet Emma’s eye - that eyebrow that always seems like a dare. “My schedule’s clear this weekend. Count me in. What do you say, Swan, think you can find room in your schedule to save Mary Margaret from the tragedy of all tragedies?”

Emma rolls her eyes at the way he’s putting it on thick, but truth be told, her only plans had been spending the day with Killian. Might as well. “Sure, what the hell,” she says, reaching for another bite of her microwave pizza. “I don’t have anything else going on.”

In retrospect, Emma realizes that Mary Margaret could have done something terrible with this - assigned them to the kissing booth or something. God, she hopes that there’s not a kissing booth at a middle school carnival, but it feels like just the kind of thing she’d pull. Thankfully, they’re set up at the ring toss game. It’s not strenuous in the least; they don’t even have to take money, just paper tickets. Really, the only questionable thing is that they’re crammed right together in the box formed between the booth walls and the counter and the table of bottles behind them. Maybe that’s something that would have bothered her a few weeks ago, back when they were Emma and Killian but not Emma and Killian. Now, it’s just an excuse to get right up in his space and enjoy all those little touches, right under everyone’s nose.

(Maybe, every time they have to duck under the counter to retrieve poorly-thrown rings, Killian takes the opportunity to steal a quick kiss while no one else can see. And maybe - just maybe - Emma uses those same opportunities to steal her own kisses right back.)

“Soooooo, how’s it going?” Mary Margaret chirps when she pops up out of nowhere mid-afternoon. It’s like she thinks she’ll find them making out in the middle of the carnival or something. Which… fair. The urge is there. But they’re professionals - and Emma wants that money, dammit. She’s not caving here.

“Just fine, Mare,” Emma replies. “Nothing worth reporting.”

“There’s not? You two are looking awfully cozy in there… nothing to report?”

“Well, you’re the one who set up the booths, so…”

“Aye, just making the best of it,” Killian helpfully adds.

Emma almost feels guilty about the way that Mary Margaret visibly deflates.

“You know this was another ridiculous set-up, right, love?” Killian asks once their friend has walked away. “She probably never even needed our help. It was all a ploy.”

“I see it now,” Emma sighs. “I had just weirdly hoped she’d be above all that bullshit.”

Killian quirks that eyebrow yet again. “Mary Margaret? Infamous meddler? Of course not. It’s cute that you thought that though, darling.”

“Oh, shut up.”

(“Mary Margaret told me to take the weekend off, that they’d over-scheduled,” Kathryn tells Emma later when she tries to ask how the other woman’s father is doing. “Was that not the case?”)

(Fucking figures.)

———

Ruby, frankly, is not a surprise. In fact, if there was one person Emma would figure would be pulling this bullshit, it’s Ruby. The girl’s too competitive for her own damn good - not to mention that mile-wide chaotic streak running through her soul.

“Pucker up!” she crows, thrusting what Emma assumes is a sprig of mistletoe over her and Killian’s heads. They’re at Ruby and Mulan’s place for… some party; it’s probably, maybe holiday themed, but Ruby’s never needed an excuse to throw a party. Anything to get them all drunk and laughing and forgetting about the stresses of the week.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Emma demands. “Ruby, don’t be stupid. This isn’t college anymore.”

“Oh, like we ever did this in college,” Ruby scoffs with that devious twinkle in her eye. “Besides, college shenanigans are a state of mind. And I’m not giving that up. Now c’mon, no weaseling out of this.”

“It is the rules,” Mulan points out, appearing to slip her arm around Ruby’s waist and drop an affectionate - if slightly tipsy - kiss on her shoulder.

“Yeah, you hear that? Smart half says it’s the rules. So go ahead and pucker up and kiss him. And then go make out for a while and maybe bone each other so I can win the pool.”

Killian blushes a little bit at the phrasing - something that’s surprisingly cute on him, knowing how often he usually tosses around the innuendoes and exactly how dirty a mouth he has when they’re alone. Before Emma knows what he’s doing, he leans in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek, and then another, smacking one for good measure. “Who are we to deny the great, determined Ruby Lucas?” he proclaims grandly. “One kiss: delivered.”

Ruby’s face gets a bit mutinous; it’s the only word for that particular storm cloud, really. “No it isn’t! That’s cheating!”

“Eh. Technically, it was a kiss.” God bless Mulan for being the only one willing to go against Ruby when she’s got a plan; perks of being the girlfriend, Emma supposes.

“And more importantly, Rubes, that’s all you’re going to get from us.” And that’s Emma’s last word on the subject.

(“Happy Christmas, darling,” Killian whispers into her neck later once they’re back at her place, dangling his own sprig of mistletoe over their heads. “How about it? C’mon, give us a kiss.”

Emma is more than happy to comply.)

———

Emma wouldn’t say it’s common for her to get calls from the school librarian, Belle, but it’s not unusual either. So when Belle calls her up in mid-December, shortly before Christmas break, Emma doesn’t think twice about it.

“The new Scholastic catalogs are here,” Belle informs her. “I haven’t started sending them to classrooms yet, but if you want to take a look now…”

“I’ll be right there.” Yes, the catalogs are full of books for middle school students, but Emma still loves those things. They’re chock-full of nostalgia.

“I haven’t even taken them out of the box yet,” Belle explains when Emma meets her at the check-out desk. “They’re all still in the back room. Here, I’ll let you in.”

That should have been Emma’s clue here. Why would a box of new catalogs, just arrived in the mail, already be shoved into the storage closet? But Emma’s too excited about the prospect of those newsprint magazines to think about it. By the time Emma realizes there’s nothing in this little closet but printer paper and old yearbooks… Belle’s already closed and locked the door, trapping Emma inside.

So it’s yet another set up, most likely. It’s a good thing she’s not claustrophobic, at least.

Sure enough, not five minutes later, Emma can hear Killian’s voice outside the door.

“How many boxes did you say it was, Belle? I’m happy to help haul, but I’m just wondering if we should get a hand cart to assist.”

“Oh no, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Belle’s voice responds. “Just a few trips for each of us. Right in here…”

And suddenly, Killian’s in the cramped little closet too, and the door is shut and latched behind them. Gee, what a surprise.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Emma comments dryly. Somehow, probably on some kind of ridiculous romantic instinct, Killian’s hands have already found their way to her hips. It’s nice, really, ignoring the circumstances.

His face is adorably confused, looking around the room and back to the door and then to Emma’s own face and all over again. “Did she just lock us in here?”

“Yeah, keep up, Jones,” Emma teases. “I assume another stupid set-up effort.”

That makes the confusion disperse alright, a smirk full of promise creeping across his face instead. “If that’s the case… we’ll just have to make the most of it.”

“Oh no you don’t,” she warns. “There’s a camera in here.”

“So? It’s not like she’s watching the monitors.”

“So, Belle recently started dating Will Scarlet in IT. You want to take the chance she locked us in here, and forgot to have her boyfriend monitor us?”

“Fuck,” Killian swears, dropping his head back in dramatic emphasis. “They’re really going overboard, aren’t they?”

“I’ll make it up to you later. I promise.”

Thirty minutes later, when Emma and Killian have done nothing but talk and try to find some little extra space in the crowded closet, Belle finally lets them out, just in time for the end of Killian’s free period.

“I’m sure you have no idea how that happened,” he comments, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“It’s just the weirdest thing,” Belle agrees.

Well, that’s one way of putting it.

(Emma makes it up to him, several times over, at her place that night, with a take-out pizza to boot.)

———

After what feels like an eternity, it’s finally here: New Year’s Eve. As long as they make it to midnight and the new year proper without anyone finding out, this whole ridiculous farce is over, and they can be the couple they’ve technically already been since October. Emma and Killian, Killian and Emma - but more than they had been before.

They’d spent Christmas together - not that that was anything unusual. With everyone else going to visit family, the two of them often spend the day together, eating take-out Chinese and watching holiday movies. Killian’s got a brother back in England that he makes sure to call, and some years Liam will fly over, but Killian usually saves his visits for summer vacation, when he can stay in whatever little English hamlet his brother calls home for weeks at a time. There’s always something nice about spending the holidays together, just the two of them, but it was extra special this year. Who knew Emma was the kind of girl who wanted to trade kisses under the Christmas tree between swapping gifts?

(Killian, apparently - but then again, he’s always claimed to know her better than she knows herself.)

“Just a few more hours,” he murmurs against her neck, twining his arms about her waist from behind as Emma carefully brushes on mascara. “Few more hours, and then it’s all in the open.”

“Thank god for that, too. After all the PDA we’ve gotten from certain people all these years, I’m looking forward to rubbing it in their faces a bit.”

They carpool to Mary Margaret and David’s, just like they do every year. It’s routine, really; Emma always crashes at Killian’s after the annual New Year’s Eve party so that someone is there to help her with the hangover in the morning. Killian makes better hashbrowns than anyone she knows - even Granny - and they always manage to pull her out of the worst of her misery. He’s good about taking care of her, too, with water and Advil and making sure to shut all the shades as tightly as possible. They even share a bed a lot of years; it’s just that tonight, Emma knows there will be a lot fewer clothes involved.

They drink. They eat. They mingle. Sometimes, they’re together, carefully not touching, and sometimes they drift apart. That’s how this party usually works, after all - and Emma is nothing if not committed to seeing this entire thing through, pretending nothing is different this year, that she and Killian definitely aren’t together. Nothing to see here, folks.

God, she’s so fucking lucky he didn’t cut and run once it became obvious just how much of a competitive lunatic Emma is.

Finally, though, it’s the moment - less than a minute left. Killian is already waiting for her by the patio doors, just like he promised. Emma is only too happy to wind her way over there, grinning when she finally finds herself in front of her boyfriend - about to be secret no longer. Behind them, the assembled drunken crowd loudly counts down the last seconds of the year. They keep their hands determinedly to themselves - just as agreed, so no one can try and claim anything happened before the strike of the new year - but Killian still looks at her with that twinkle in his eyes and wiggling eyebrows. It’s anticipation, and excitement, and a good bit of joy - knowing that soon, this will all be out in the open. No more keeping their hands to themselves.

“You ready for this, love?” he says just loud enough for her to hear as the clock hits ten seconds.

“Hell yeah,” she grins back - because she is. She so is. This has been a long time coming - years in the making, really - and you know what? The whole secrecy may have helped her wrap her head around the whole thing, as well as win her the pot, but she’s ready to take it public. Maybe rub it in everyone’s faces just how happy she is and how she did this on her own schedule. Why the hell not?

Cheers erupt all around them, and Emma’s grin stretches to something that almost hurts her face. Killian looks much the same. “Happy New Year, love,” he says, finally pulling her towards him by the hips. “I think it’ll be our best one yet.”

Fireworks are going on outside, lighting up the snow on the ground, but Emma can’t be bothered to pay attention - not when Killian attacks her lips with purpose, grinning happily into the kiss before she insistently deepens it, slipping her tongue into his mouth to play. It’s just another in a series of kisses, they know - but it’s more than that. It’s a display, in the best way, declaring them them.

Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. A pair, a unit, a couple.

“HA!” shrieks someone across the room as their make-out finally gains attention. Emma thinks it might be Ruby - though, at this point, it might be Mary Margaret. Maybe both. It’s definitely Ruby who materializes just as Emma and Killian finally break apart with a laugh. “It’s about fucking time!”

“Yeah,” Emma agrees - something that seems to short-circuit Ruby’s brain for a moment, if that look on her face is anything to go by. “It really was. And you know what else?”

Ruby shakes her head mutely, that twist of her eyebrows demonstrating that she’s still trying to get her bearings about what the fuck is happening here.

“It’s the new year. That pot is mine.”

“That’s my girl,” Killian whispers in her ear.

Best. New Year’s. Ever.

———

On January 1st of the new year, Emma and Killian - Killian and Emma - they, them, a pair, a unit, a couple take their six hundred dollars in winnings and treat themselves to a goddamn massive lunch at Granny’s. Together. In public. Because they deserve it.

Grilled cheese has never tasted so good to Emma - especially the crumbs off the corners of Killian’s lips.

#csss20 #cssecretsanta2020 #cs ff #captain swan #cs fanfiction #my writing #the set-up scam #secret dating #friends to lovers #oh my god and they were ACCOMPLICES #happy holidays everyone!

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everything-person · 4 years ago

Text

CS January Joy Day 7: The Rescue

A/N: So this fic idea spawned from a Wander Over Yonder short called The Hero. Its really funny highly suggest you watch it. This has been an idea of mine for a while and has been in the draft graveyard for maybe 3 years. Point is its been a long time idea and I’m super excited about finally being able to post it especially for an amazing event such as @csjanuaryjoy. Special thanks to @profdanglaisstuff who hoped on as my beta last minute.

Summary: Princess Emma has gone missing and with the kings promise of a special reward for the one to bring her home safely her friends plan to be the ones to do just that.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Once upon a time the princess turned bandit met the shepherd turned prince. They fell in love and together they defeated the Evil Queen. They became the rulers of a grand land best known as The Enchanted Forest. Under the rule of Queen Snow White and King James the Enchanted Forest came a time of peace and prosperity.

One fortunate day Queen Snow White and King James announced the birth of a beautiful baby girl, a new princess for the kingdom, and she was given the name Emma. The princess was the product of True Love and would wield the most powerful light magic in all the realms. She would be known as the Savior. The kingdom rejoiced, days of celebration were held in honor of the princess. Nobility and Royalty from all over came to pay their respects and welcome the new princess.

Though the princess’s birth was a happy and welcome one, a great danger lay hidden. For with great light there must be great darkness. A prophecy told of a day when the Savior would be stolen away by darkness. Only to be rescued by one true hero, with the help of his sidekick-

“Whoa,” Pinocchio interrupted, “which one of us is the sidekick?”

Baelfire froze, looking at his friend. Even in the dim light of the tavern he could make out Pinocchio’s confused and slightly agitated glare.“Well I don't mean to be rude, my friend, but you're the sidekick.”

“Oh,” Pinocchio leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “And how do we know you're not the sidekick?”

“It says that the hero is Emma's True Love.” Baelfire stated, gesturing to the book open in front of him.

“That proves nothing.”

Baelfire let out a frustrated sigh, slamming the book closed. “Okay well I guess whoever saves her is the hero and her true love.”

Pinocchio’s eyebrows furrowed, “Allow me understand you. Are you suggesting when we go retrieve Her Royal Highness, Rightful Heir to Misthaven’s Throne, The Savior, most powerful light magic wielder in this and any known realm, that whoever gets to her first will be the one she marries? Am I understanding you correctly?”

Baelfire shrugged his shoulders. “Do you have a better idea?”

Pinocchio stared at the man across from him. The buzz of the tavern surrounded them.

The two men had grown up with Princess Emma. For a time she wasn’t Her Royal Highness Princess Emma, she was just Emma, their friend. They were all playmates but as they grew Baelfire and Pinocchio saw her as Princess Emma and perhaps a bit more. They both wished to court her but before they had a chance to make a request she was stolen away from her 21st birthday ball. She's been missing for months and in their Majesties’ desperation they decreed that ‘the one who saves Princess Emma and brings her home will be the one to take her hand in marriage.’ Many have already tried but no one has even caught a glimpse of the princess. After hearing the news, Baelfire and Pinocchio decided they would save the princess and they would have a better chance of that together. Baelfire was in charge of finding out information on where the princess might be, hence the tavern they’ve been sitting in for nearly two hours. Pinocchio was in charge of transportation both getting to where the princess was and their escape route.

“I'm taking your silence as a no. So whoever gets to Emma first is the one who marries her, agreed?” Baelfire stuck his hand across the table.

Pinocchio stared at the offensive hand for a moment. Baelfire was right, he didn't have a better idea and Emma's father did say whoever saved Emma had her hand. So technically whichever one of them got to her first is the one to save her. Pinocchio grabbed his friend's hand and gave it a firm shake, “Agreed.”

“Good, because I think our man just showed up.” Baelfire nodded towards the man entering the tavern as he stuffed the book holding the prophecy in his satchel.

The tricorn hat on his head, long hair draped over the shoulders of his long coat hiding the sword and pistol at his hip all gave him away.

Pirate.

Pinocchio made to stand but a kick to the leg made him fall back in his chair. “Ow,” he exaggerated, glaring at his friend.

“What are you doing?” Baelfire questioned him.

“I'm going -”

Baelfire interrupted, “That's not how you deal with pirates. You make them” he holds up a purse of coins, “come to you.” He finalized his statement by slamming down the coins on the table.

Though Pinocchio doubted him at first once the pirate saw the gold he knew they had him. The man sauntered over to them. “That’s quite a bit of coin you have there mate.” He stood over their table with his thumb in his belt. He wore a smirk that was anything but friendly.

“More than a bit and I was hoping to win some more.” Baelfire leaned back in his seat meeting the man's gaze.

The man's smirk turned into a smile, “Well you're in luck, we were just about to set up a game. Perhaps you'd like to join us.”

=====================================

His father beckoned him over. “Pinocchio come meet the new princess.”

The little boy cautiously walked to where his father was standing next to the King and Queen. They smiled kindly at the boy as he approached. Once he was at the side of the crib he stood on the tips of his toes in order to see.

There laying in the crib was a small baby. She was wrapped in a white knitted blanket lined with a purple ribbon and in the corner read a name. “Pinocchio this is Emma.” the queen introduced him with a quiet voice.

“Hello Emma.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked back at him with big soft eyes, her mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape. He couldn’t help but reach into the crib and pet her head lightly . “She is so soft and so small.”

The adults chuckled at his observation. “Yes she is.”

“Pinocchio,” His father's voice caught his attention. He turned to see his father had knelt down. “Princess Emma is going to need a friend. Someone to help her and teach her things. Someone she can rely on. Can you do that? Can you be Princess Emma's friend?”

Pinocchio smiled and nodded. “Yes father. I will try to be the best friend I can to Princess Emma.”

“Good boy.” His father said and gave him a pat on his head.

A small whine came from the crib. Emma was rubbing her face letting out more noise. Pinocchio looked over the side. “Oh no Emma don’t cry. Look.” He pulled on his ears, sticking his tongue out and made silly noises until the princess calmed down. “See it’s okay.”

“Thank you Pinocchio. You are sure to be a very good friend for the princess.” the king assured him.

====================================

Baelfire had the pirates in the palm of his hand. With each hand he would buy another round for the table. He had now gotten the table thoroughly drunk, with all the men laughing jovially and ready to spill their guts at the right question. This is why he's sure he is the hero the prophecy spoke of, only the hero would be clever enough to persuade pirates into giving him the information he required.

“So Captain I hear you’re quite the fearsome pirate,” Baelfire started.

“Aye the most fearsome on the seas. No one dares cross Blackbeard's sword.”

“Having that kind of reputation I’m sure you pass through many ports and hear many different tales.”

“Aye I keep my ear to the ground for the best treasure to pillage and plunder. Are you in the market for some jewels or magical trinket?”

“None actually. I was hoping to hear what the best gossip pirates have to offer. Who’s picked up what?”

“Sorry to disappoint mate but I can’t think of anything worth telling.”

A drunken crew member piped up at this, “Capt’n what about that blonde woman? She was certainly interesting to look at.”

Baelfire's eyes darted from the crew member to his captain. Hoping he was right, he asked “What blonde woman?”

(A couple hours later)

“I know where Emma is!” Baelfire burst through the door of Pinocchio's workshop. Pinocchio jumped at the noise, dropping his tools. His glare at his intruder morphed into a curious gaze.

“Well where is she?”

Baelfire strode up to the workshop table pulling out a map. “The pirates said they came across a ship that held a beautiful blonde woman aboard.”

Pinocchio’s face pinched together as he stared at the man before him, “You do realize Emma isn't the only blonde woman in all the realms.”

“They said she wields a sword like a warrior, has the tongue of a sailor, fought like a man, backed down to no one all while looking as if she'd come down from heaven.” Baelfire cocked his head to the side, “You know as well as I do how fiery Emma can be.”

The former puppet nodded, “Alright where did he say she was?”

“Here.” Baelfire pointed to the map.

“So how are you getting us there?” Baelfire asked as Pinnochio looked to where they were going, plotting the fastest path they must take. Pinnochio smirked at the question, “Well what's a hero without a noble steed?”

===================================

Baelfire’s feet pounded against the earth beneath him as he weaved through the trees. His rage and frustrations fueling him forward. It'd been two days since Pan tricked him and sent him back to the realm he detested. Back to the father that chose power over him.

He found his papa stood by his word and got a castle for him. The castle was filled with all kinds of magical items but that wasn't all. There was a woman there as well. His papa found a new love. He was making a new family.

Baelfire rubbed at his eyes, fighting the tears that desperately wanted to fall. He didn't care about his papa or this new family he wanted to make. All he wanted was out of the realm and away from all things magical.

The further he ran the more his vision blurred. He began bumping into trees, swatting away branches that crossed his path. The more obstacles in his path the more determined he was to run faster. A root caught his foot, causing him to tumble forward, landing face first into the dirt below. He rubbed his head as he took in his new surroundings. He was in a small clearing filled with tall grass and flowers swaying in the breeze. He pushed up onto his hands and knees, feeling the pressure mounting inside him. He felt as if he was going to burst. He clutched at the dirt beneath him, squeezing his eyes shut. Just as he was about to let it all out he heard something.

Something that made him freeze.

He heard laughter.

He lifted up his head to see a girl running into the clearing, looking behind her. Since she was looking behind and not where she was going she tripped, tumbling forward and landing face first a few feet away from him. She pushed up into the same position he was in, shaking her head before lifting it and noticing him for the first time. They looked at each other for a moment, neither sure what to say or make of the other.

The girl cocked her head to the side before asking, “What are you doing?”

Baelfire scrunched up his face and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Playing,” she answered simply.

Baelfire scoffed, “Little girls shouldn’t be playing in the forest.”

Before he knew it Baelfire was being knocked back in the dirt. He looked up to see the girl now standing over him.

“I’m not a little girl. I can take care of myself.”

Baelfire looked up at this strange girl standing there with her arms crossed. “Who are you?”

She dropped her arms, looking him over before offering her hand to him, “I’m Emma.”

==============================

Baelfire thought fondly of when he met Emma in that clearing all those years ago. They continued to meet in that clearing a few more times, both curious about the other. She would allow him to air his grievances about his father, about magic, about all that's happened to him. He told her about his plan to leave this realm and he asked if she would want to join him. That was when he found out who she was and what she was. Her Royal Highness Emma, Crown Princess of Misthaven. When he found out who she was he was afraid that her parents wouldn’t let him see her anymore because of who his father was. So he made a deal with his father to make a deal with the King and Queen.

Baelfire promised to forgive his father if his father went to the King and Queen with a deal. Rumplestiltskin promised to never harm anyone in their kingdom if his son could continue to be friends with the princess. But she wasn’t just a princess. She was also the Savior, product of True Love, wielder of the most powerful light magic. Though she had light magic he asked that she didn’t use it in front of him. He saw what magic did to his father and the magic of Neverland. No matter what kind of magic it was Baelfire didn’t trust it.

“Hey! You awake back there?” Pinocchio called out to him from his seat at the front of the wagon.

Blackbeard said the ship that held the blonde woman was heading south. Baelfire suspected that they would need to make port within the next couple days before they headed back onto open water, so they are heading to a port town known to harbor pirates. With any luck they’ll find the ship Emma is on.

“No one could fall asleep with the way you're steering,” Baelfire grumbled. “This uncomfortable wagon wasn't what I had in mind when you said ‘noble steed.’”

“Well what do you expect the sidekick to ride in? Besides, a wagon any bigger would slow us down. You might want to try getting some rest while you can. By the map you gave me, we will be there by sundown.”

“The hero doesn’t need rest and is always prepared to leap into action.”

Pinocchio was right. They arrived in the small seaside village by the time the sun had fallen past the horizon. They were able to find a place to rest their horse and hide their wagon until they can determine whether or not Emma is here.

“So You head to the tavern and I’ll head to the docks-”

“No,” Baelfire cut off his friend.

“What? That was our plan. You go see if you can get any information from the tavern. While I go see if I can spot Emma on any of the ships in the dock.”

“There's no need for that plan anymore.”

Pinocchio pinched the bridge of his nose, getting annoyed with Baelfire’s know it all attitude. “And why the hell not?”

Baelfire rolled his eyes, grabbing his companion’s arm, turning him around. He stretched his arm out, pointing towards a porky little man wearing a red cap, “That is why.” Baelfire dropped his arm, “We’ll follow him.”

Pinocchio looked between the man they are now apparently following and his accomplice in this quest. “Okay I give up, who is he?”

“He is the first mate of the pirate that will lead us to Emma.”

“How could you possibly know that?” asked Pinocchio, exasperated.

“Look just trust me. If they don’t have Emma, they will know where she is.”

Pinocchio eyed Baelfire, not really believing him until he saw the look in his eye. It was a look of conviction. Baelfire fully believed that this man would lead them to Emma.

Pinocchio slowly began to nod. “Okay let's go.”

The pair followed this man as he, along with three others, went from shop to shop. When the group of men seemed to be finished they carried three barrels, four sacks, and two crates between the four of them. The men walked down towards the docks.

“Where's their ship? I don’t see it,” Pinocchio inquired, looking up and down the pier.

Baelfire watched as the men they were following walked down to a row boat. He then cast his eyes on the water. “The pier was too small for them to dock.”

Pinocchio followed Baelfire's gaze and saw the men in a row boat rowing towards a ship in the distance. Baelfire, frustrated, began to rub the back of his neck, trying to come up with a new plan. “Okay good news this allows us to sneak onto the ship easier. Charging up the gangplank wasn’t the best idea in hindsight. Bad news is you need to build a boat right now.”

“Just because I was wood once doesn’t make me a miracle worker.” Pinocchio looked up and down the docks until he saw something that could help them. “Look there.”

Pinocchio pointed to a small sailboat haphazardly tied to a post. They waited until the row boat was halfway to the vessel when they made their move. Baelfire threw the rope off its post, while Pinocchio pushed the boat in the water. They both jumped in before it got too far from the dock.

They laid low so as not to be seen. Pinocchio was able to steer which way their boat drifted with the rudder.

“Oi Smee look,” a crew man called out when they made it back to the ship, pointing back towards the docks. “Some poor bloke lost ‘is sail.”

The man laughed as they raised their boat, unaware of the floating vessel's intent. Because they were unable to use the available oars, over fear of being spotted, they simply drifted hoping the rudder would be enough to lead them close enough to climb aboard. After a while of just drifting Baelfire began lightly drumming his fingers against the wood beneath them.

“Stop that.”

“Can’t you make this thing go faster?” Baelfire growled at his companion.

“Unless you think I can control the waves and wind we are at the mercy of both,” Pinocchio huffed.

“We wouldn’t be if we were able to row-”

“That’s a great idea if part of your plan is to get caught. With an idea like that you must be the hero from the prophecy,” Pinocchio drawled, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Listen. The possibility of being caught is better than aimlessly drifting.”

“You just have to be patient.”

“Translation: I’m a sidekick and wait for stuff to happen.”

Pinocchio punched Baelfire's leg, tired of his arrogant attitude. Baelfire glared at him, thrusting his leg forward, kicking Pinocchio in the shoulder. Pinocchio grunted then grabbed hold of Baelfire's foot, twisting it in an unnatural way. Baelfire gasped, yanking his foot out of the other man's grip. Before Baelfire could retaliate they both were jostled as the boat bumped into something. They looked up to see that while they were busy arguing they had drifted right next to the ship. They both looked at each other before Pinocchio dropped anchor and they prepared to board the ship.

“Alright let's go.”

Pinocchio grabbed Baelfire's arm, pulling him back down in his seat. “Wait,” he aggressively whispered.

“What?”

“Do you hear that?”

Underneath the sound of the wind and the waves crashing against the hull of the ship, was the sound of cheers. They could just make out the sounds of cups clashing, laughter, and music floating down from the deck above.

Baelfire's brows furrowed, “Why are they celebrating?”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is they are drinking. We both know how pirates like their drink.”

“So?” Baelfire said through gritted teeth, wanting him to get to the point.

“So we wait until they are too drunk to stand then board the ship, grab Emma, then row back to shore. By the time they gather themselves we will be headed for home.”

Baelfire turned his head back up, contemplating this new plan. “If we go now with half, if not all the crew on deck, we risk a better chance of being captured if not killed. Then who will save Emma?”

Baelfire closed his eyes and balled his fist, “Fine. We wait.”

So they waited and waited. Though their plan was smart they did not count on the waves rocking their small boat, effectively putting them to sleep. The sun cresting over the horizon woke Baelfire. Once he was fully awake it dawned on him what had happened. He bolted upright, jostling the boat as he did. He turned to his side to see Pinocchio sprawled out asleep, and he gave him a quick kick to rouse him.

“Wake up, we fell asleep.”

Pinocchio's head rolled as a groan escaped his mouth. Baelfire sighed before bending down, running his hand across the water's surface and flicking his wrist, causing the water to hit Pinocchio in the face. Pinocchio sputtered, now wide awake. He turned to shout at his attacker but his anger quickly vanished when he saw the sun. Both men jumped to action. Pinocchio attached his short sword to his hip as Baelfire threw his cutlass onto his back.

“They say you can truly measure a man by his sword,” Baelfire commented, eyeing his companion’s choice of weapon.

“The size of the sword doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to use it.”

As they prepared to board, Pinocchio turned to his friend, “Hey.”

Baelfire turned to see a sincere and serious look in his eye.

“No matter what happens up there, Emma's safety and happiness comes first.”

Baelfire nodded, reaching out his hand. Pinocchio accepted it, giving it a firm shake.

“May the best man win,” Baelfire said as they both turned to the next part of their journey. They prepared themselves for a moment before grabbing hold and ascending the ship.

==========================================

“Come on. Let’s go,” Emma encouraged her friends as she entered the tavern.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Pinocchio warned warily.

“Yeah Ems we can get better drinks and food back at the castle.”

Emma turned facing her supposed friends, fixing them with a look. “You both promised me a drink so I suggest you stop your squawking and accept that we are here.”

Baelfire huffed as Pinocchio gestured for Emma to lead the way. The three of them settled on a table in the corner near the exit at Pinocchio's insistence. A bar maid came over and distributed three mugs of grog. Baelfire paid the wench and the three friends cheered their glasses together. Baelfire begrudgingly took a sip of his drink, grimacing as he swallowed the foul beverage. Pinocchio put his drink back on the table, wanting to have a clear mind in case any problems arose. Emma finished her drink in record time.

“Okay you've had your drink, can we leave now?”

“Come on Pinocchio lighten up.” Emma nudged his shoulder with her own, “This is supposed to be fun.”

“And what is so fun about spending a night in a dirty tavern, drinking gross grog, and being surrounded by drunkards?”

Emma glared at Baelfire. “It’s freeing. No one knows who we are, no guards, no one telling you what to do, being able to see how people really live.”

“Yes because who wouldn’t want to be a part of the adultery, lying, and thievery part of everyday people's lives.”

“Look, if you're going to act like this all night you can just leave.”

There was an awkward pause as the two friends stared each other down. Without breaking eye contact, Baelfire rose out of his chair, turned and left the tavern without another word. Emma huffed, leaning her elbows on the table, looking into her glass. This wasn’t her first time sneaking out of the castle but it was the first time she asked her friends to join her. She was excited to spend the night with them without having to be the proper princess everyone expected her to be. But it seemed her friends didn’t understand that.

“Come on Emma. Let's go, I'll walk you back to the castle.”

“Pinocchio if you're so eager to leave why don't you just go too.”

“Emma-”

Emma slammed her hands on the table, fixing him with a look, “Look if you don’t want to have a drink then just go.”

A burst of laughter turned her attention to the back of the bar. Emma smiled, “If you guys don’t want to have fun then I’ll go find my own.”

Emma pushed off the table, walking toward the table that caught her attention just moments before. Coming up to the group she placed her hands on their table, leaning forward addressing the man that seemed to be the center of attention. “So what are you boys playing?”

=========================================

The sound of swords clashing filled the air. The night's rest was all the pirates needed to sober up enough to fight the invaders. Pinocchio and Baelfire weren’t making it easy on them.

“What the bloody hell is going on up here?!”

The outburst distracted Pinocchio and Baelfire just enough for the crew to disarm them of their weapons. They grabbed the men, forcing their arms behind their backs and them onto their knees.

A man dressed in only leather pants descended the stairs onto the main deck. He wore chains around his neck, at the end of one arm was a brace holding a hook in place of a hand, and at the end of the other he clutched a sword in his grip, prepared for battle.

“Well?” The man paused, looking around waiting for someone to speak up, “Your Captain asked you a question, I expect an answer.”

“Cap’n these two snuck on board at day break.”

The captain looked over these two men, “Let me guess, more heroes come to take on the great Captain Hook.”

“There is nothing great about you. You filthy pirate,” Baelfire spat.

“You know I’ve grown rather tired of boys still wet behind their ears thinking they can come aboard my ship,” The captain spoke louder. “Why don’t we make an example out of these two? To remind everyone why they don’t cross Captain Hook and the crew of the Jolly Roger.”

The crew cheered as Baelfire and Pinocchio began to struggle out of their ropes, but two crew men firmly held them down.

“Now,” Hook raised his sword towards the men on their knees. “What shall we do with you?”

The crew erupted with suggestions but just as soon as the shouting started it stopped.

“What is with all the yelling this morning?”

Everyone's attention turned to the stairs, where stood the woman they were looking for. She made her way down the stairs dressed only in a black shirt that came down mid thigh on her, her blonde tresses falling in gentle waves over her shoulders. Her face scrunched up, as if she were in pain, her hand rubbing circles onto her head.

“Emma.” Hook dropped his sword, running over to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. He made it just in time as she tripped on the last step, falling into his arms. Hook opened his mouth to speak again but Emma held her hand to stop him.

“Caspian,” Emma pointed to the crewman, “what was that devil juice you gave me last night?”

“Tequila ma’am.”

Emma waved her hand, “Never. Never again is that allowed aboard this ship.”

“Love, what are you doing up?”

Emma snaked her hand that was resting on his bicep around his neck while the other began playing with the chain hanging from his neck. “Well, I got cold and had the unpleasant experience of waking up alone.” She paused, looking up at the captain through her lashes, “Then I got a splitting headache from all the shouting so I decided to find out what pulled my captain from my bed.”

“It wasn’t by choice, love. But it seems we have some unexpected visitors.” Hook nodded his head toward the middle of the deck.

Emma finally turned her head to see her two childhood friends being held on their knees, bound and gagged. “What the hell,” she whispered to herself.

Disentangling herself from Hook she moved to stand in front of the two men. She waved her hand, removing their gags. “What are you guys doing here?” Emma crossed her arms waiting for an answer.

“We came to rescue you and bring you home.”

Emma brows furrowed in confusion, “What?”

“You were kidnapped-” Pinocchio was cut off by the crew bursting with laughter.

“I wasn’t kidnapped, I left willingly.”

“But the prophecy-”

“Prophecy?”

A crew member came forward holding a book, “They had this with them ma’am.”

Emma took the book, offering a smile as thanks. She looked down and realized what she was holding in her hands, “You mean the storybook you made for me when I was ten?”

“But your father offered your hand to anyone who could bring you home safely,” Baelfire informed her.

“EXCUSE ME!? He did what?!”

“I thought you said you left your parents a note, lass,” Hook piped up from the railing he was leaning against.

“I did, they either didn’t read it or didn't believe it. Fuck! We’ve been gone for months now. They must be worried sick.” Emma began pacing. While she never wanted to cause her parents and distress she just wanted some space. In the midst of her pacing a thought occurred to her and she stopped.

“Wait,” she turned back to the men on their knees, “There are two of you. So if this was a “rescue mission” and the prize was my hand how was that going to work, huh?”

The men stayed silent.

“What? Was it whoever got to me first cause I know for damn sure neither of you are keen on sharing.”

Baelfire and Pinocchio hung their heads in shame.

“Really? I can’t believe you two.”

Hook approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her back to his chest, resting his chin on her shoulder, “What do you wish to do, love?”

Emma relaxed in his embrace, her gaze still fixed on the men before her. “Take them to the brig for now.”

As the crew stood them up they struggled against their restraints, pleading with Emma to listen to them. Their pleas fell on deaf ears as Emma and Hook retreated to the captain's quarters. Hook closed the door behind them, looking wearily at Emma, who had her back to him, her hands placed on his desk with her head hanging down.

“Emma? Love? Are you alright?”

Emma sighed, turning around, “I’m just in shock I guess. What were they thinking? What was my father thinking?”

“I would assume your father was desperate to have his daughter back safe at home. And as for your friends, they saw this as an opportunity for you to view them more than just your friends.”

Emma huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Did you ever have feelings for them as they do you?”

Emma turned to see him inspecting his hook. At the sight of his uncertainty her shoulders dropped and her face softened. She walked over to where he leaned against his bookcase, moving to stand before him. She gently cupped his face, making him look at her. “Never. I would be lying if I said I never thought about being with one of them but I never felt for them the way I do you.”

Killian smiled, turning his head to give her palm a tender kiss.

“I do care for them. Pinocchio has been there for me ever since I could remember, and he is great.”

“But..?”

“But he has it in his mind that he has to take care of me.”

“Ah and we both know you are a lass that can take care of herself.”

Emma hummed in agreement before continuing, “And Baelfire hates magic because of his father. So he would always hate a part of me. And I know he still plans to find a way out of this realm, never to return. I would love to explore other realms, hell it’s why I ran off with you, but the Enchanted Forest is my home.”

Emma looked up to see Hook's eyes had gone wide and his jaw set. “Killian, what’s wrong?”

“That man was Baelfire? The Dark One’s son?”

“Yeah why?”

A look of pain crossed his face as he moved away from Emma.

“Killian what is it?”

“You remember the woman I told you about? The reason for my revenge against the Dark One?”

“Yes, Milah wh-” then it dawned on her, “Milah was Baelfire's mother.”

“Aye,” he tried to force a laugh, “The dark humor of the gods I suppose. I not only took his mother from him but the woman he’s in love with.”

“Hey stop that.” Emma placed a hand on his shoulder, “You didn’t take anyone. We both left on our own.”

Killian looked at Emma, still feeling the weight of guilt on his shoulders.

“Do you regret meeting me?”

“Never. Meeting you was the best thing that could’ve happened to me.”

Killian leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft reassuring kiss. When the kiss ended they pressed their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry for what happened with Baelfire, Milah and you. But I refuse to feel bad about falling in love with you,” Emma whispered.

Killian sighed contentedly, “So what do we do now?”

========================================

A week later

King James sat on his throne in the council room with his head in his hands. His heart was heavy with grief. A gentle hand laid on his shoulder, he looked up to see his wife wearing a sad smile.

“I just want her home.”

“So do I. We just have to have hope-”

His wife was cut off by the sound of the doors bursting open, a dwarf running into the room.

“Grumpy what is it? What's wrong?”

The dwarf in question was out of breath, leaning forward on his knees. “It’s...It's Emma,” he panted.

The king stood with a force that sent his chair to the floor. “What? What about Emma? Has she been found?”

“She *inhale* She..*cough cough*”

“She’s what?” Charming demanded.

“She’s home.”

They heard a small voice coming from the entryway. Snow and Charming’s eyes both snapped to the door behind the dwarf to see their daughter standing there in a pair of black boots, brown trousers, and a white long sleeved shirt underneath a blue vest.

“Emma!” The couple gasped before they made their way around the table, past the still out of breath dwarf, engulfing their daughter in an embrace.

After a couple minutes they pulled back slightly, looking over their daughter.

“Emma we were so worried about you,” Snow said.

“Are you alright? How did you get back?” Charming inquired. That's when he noticed there were three men standing in the room. All of them stood straight shoulder to shoulder, with their hands behind their backs. He recognized two of them as being Baelfire and Pinocchio, the third man he’s never seen before but by the sight of him dressed head to toe in leather he assumed this was the man that stole his daughter away.

“I see.” The King let go of his family, stepping towards the men. “So who was it? Which one of you brought my daughter home to me,” he asked, smiling brightly, overjoyed that his daughter was home.

He waited for Baelfire or Pinocchio to step forward. For one of them to take credit for the rescue. He was taken aback when the pirate stepped forward, revealing his arms weren’t in restraints.

“Actually, Your Majesty, it was I that captained the vessel that brought your daughter home.”

Charming’s brows furrowed, he approached Baelfire and Pinocchio, turning them to see their hands tied. Charming turned back to his daughter and saw her holding the pirate's hand.

“What's going on?” Charming asked.

“Emma?” Snow looked between her husband and their daughter.

“I wasn’t kidnapped, I left willingly. I love you both and this kingdom, but it’s suffocating being the Savior and Princess of Misthaven. I wanted to explore, have adventures, like the ones you used to tell me about.”

“So you ran away with this pirate?”

“Killian Jones, at your service Your Majesty.” Killian bowed, hoping the show of respect would give him some brownie points.

“I met Killian about a year ago-”

“And where exactly was that?” Charming now stood with his arms crossed.

“At a tavern in the village.”

“You’ve been sneaking out of the castle!”

“Charming,” Snow chided her husband. “We’re listening, Emma, go on.”

“We met about a year ago and he would tell me about all the places he’s gone and things he’s seen. Then he offered to take me with him. And we fell in love.”

“A simplified version of events but the truth.”

“Why did you come back now? After all these months?”

Emma gestured to the men next to them, “These two tried a dashing rescue, and informed me you offered my hand as a prize to whoever could get to me first.”

The frustration and confusion that once captured his features melted away and shame replaced them, “Emma you must understand. We didn’t know where you went, what happened to you, if you were even alive. We grew desperate.”

Emma sighed, “I know. That is why we are here.”

Confusion once again crossed the King and Queen’s face.

“Ahem. I suppose it’s my turn to speak. Your Majesties, as the one to bring the princess home, I humbly ask for your blessing to marry your daughter.”

====================================

“Captain on deck!”

Killian boarded the ship that he’d called home for over 300 years.

“How’d it go Captain?” Mr. Smee asked as he approached him.

“It went as expected.”

“So, Mistress Emma?”

Killian smiled, “She just saying her goodbyes.”

Emma stood on the docks with her friends who were now unbound. The king and queen had given them their blessing. So while the King and Queen were busy planning their wedding, that will take place a year from now, Emma and Killian were free to travel and have adventures. Emma said goodbye to her parents this time around now all there was left was the unfinished business between the three friends.

Emma shuffled from foot to foot, unsure what to say, “Guys I-”

“Are you happy?”

Emma looked at Pinocchio. “What?”

“Does this, traveling on a pirate ship, being with Hook, make you happy?”

Emma smiled. “Yeah. It makes me really happy.”

“Then go.” Pinocchio nodded towards the ship. “Be happy.”

Emma embraced her long time friend, before letting go, turning to Baelfire.

“I know one day you’ll find whatever it is you're looking for.”

Baelfire stayed silent as he embraced her. Once he let her go she made her way up the gangplank onto the ship. She approached the man that won her heart.

“You ready for that adventure I promised you, love?”

Emma wrapped her arms around Killian’s neck as his looped around her waist, “I believe we were headed to Agrabah before we were rudely interrupted.”

Killian chuckled, “You heard her lads. Set course to Agrabah.”

#cs jj #cs january joy #cs fanfic #cs ff #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #baelfire #pinocchio #captain duckling

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thisonesatellite · 4 years ago

Text

if you live by the word, you die by the pen -- CH13 (AKA The Conclusion)

SUMMARY: It’s just another day with bad coffee, the day that Sheriff Swan enters Detective Jones’ precinct.

The fact that his life is about to come apart at the seams is purely incidental.

With apologies to Dashiell Hammett and James Ellroy, i’m playing in their sandbox and i’m taking the bucket and the shovel. You guys can keep the rake.

|CH1| CH2 | CH3 | CH4 | CH5 | CH6 | CH7 | CH8 | CH9 | CH10 | CH11 | CH12 |

AO3 (if you want decent formatting, because tumblr does not).

A/N: OMG. i did it. IT’S DONE.

i realize in the grand scheme of things this means nothing - especially not these days, but--- hey, you take your wins where you can get them and---

i. AM. DONE.

(i feel like a full orchestra should have accompanied that last sentence.) 😂

i am giving you the entire rest of the story, epilogue and all, because i have made you guys wait enough. Seriously. i can’t believe you’re still with me. You are the awesomest.

And watch out. This may be the most furious battle i’ve ever written. Strap in, because it’s gonna be a bumpy ride to the Happy End. BUT. i promise you - promise you - that bit of darkness i’m going to run you through? It will be worth it in the end.

So, to all of you - but especially my lovely @jennjenn615 - trust me one more time, OK? Please?

All right. HERE WE GO.

Thanks first and foremost to @profdanglaisstuff who holds my hand every time i go off the deep end, but most of all - this is a story chock full of linguistics, and she is a linguist, and it would not have happened but for her. Guys - if you enjoyed this ride, thank her.

Also all my love to @katie-dub who is my Isle of Man connection and all-around superwoman, and @ohmightydevviepuu who on most days makes Hercules look like a lazy bum and has waited nearly a year for this to get finished. Does anyone even remember that this was her birthday fic?

i DO.

i’m sorry it took so long, honey.

And thanks to everyone, every single one of you reading -- lurking or flailing, quiet or loud -- THANK YOU.

Thank you for coming on this ride with me. If you need me, i’ll be over there with a shot of whisky.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕.

With extra love for @captainsjedi, for the incredible art that started it all.

If you want on or off the tag list, let me know! (And seriously - if it’s ‘off’ - please don’t worry. Absolutely no hard feelings.)

@mariakov81 @stahlop @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @captainsjedi @toomanyfandomstochoosefrom @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @mayquita @ohmightydevviepuu @sals86 @karenfrommisthaven @kmomof4 @kday426 @superchocovian @jennjenn615 @facesiousbutton82 @suwya @spartanguard @capnjay21 @shardminds @carpedzem @girl-in-a-tiny-box @ilovemesomekillianjones @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @teamhook @katie-dub @shireness-says @qualitycoffeethings @cluttermind @fragilebeautifulchaos @optomisticgirl @klynn-stormz @winterbaby89 @ethereal-madnesss @scientificapricot @fragilebeautifulchaos @anxioussquirrel @killianjones-twopointoh @captain-emmajones

CHAPTER 13

They’re on the roof.

On the roof.

There is a clock tower in the distance.

The wind howls around them, thunder rolls so hard her bones rattle, the lightning cracks as if rending the fabric of space-time itself, and Killian---

Killian.

He’s standing with his arms around her, holding her while the world around them tears asunder, and she has never been this afraid. This is terror the likes of which she could never have fathomed, because she realizes in a long, slow, excruciating moment that to fear for another person is infinitely worse than to fear for oneself, and she is so

so terrified for the man wrapped around her.

He’s looking at her, blue eyes calm and steady, even in this absolute cacophony, looks at her and holds her tight and lets warmth pulse through both of them, warmth and strength and the first sliver of hope, and then----

With a deafening crack the air around them splinters .

A long tear, blacker than the thunderclouds overhead ratchets down an invisible seam and grows larger and larger until it is a bubble wrapped around the rooftop, dark and ominous and howling, and through the darkness comes a figure

the figure of a man, no---

the figure of

a boy.

A blond boy, tall and skinny, not far into his teenage years.

“Ah,” he says, stepping down to the concrete. “Finally.”

He is dressed like the hunters in medieval fairytales - brown and green clothing meant for camouflage in verdant territory, leather and wool and rough linen and he lifts up his hand and the howling, the lightning, the thunder all stop .

The bubble holds, a ball of iridescent, swirling black, blocking out the town around them, wrapping them in a silence so complete, it does not seem part of this world. All Emma can hear is her own rapid, frightened breathing, and Killian’s lips next to her ear whispering, “Steady, love.”

There is no sound but what they make.

The boy walks up to them both as if he were taking a stroll down the well-manicured lawn of a country estate, blithe and carefree, except that his swagger has a touch of gunslinger to it. He looks at them both. His smile is wide and utterly vicious.

“Look at what we have here,” he says. “The Savior.” He rolls the word Savior in his mouth like a piece of candy while his eyes flash briefly and his smile becomes wider and sickly sweet. “What a pleasure it is to finally meet you, Emma Swan.”

He knows her name.

He knows her name .

Emma can’t move.

She can no longer feel Killian’s arms around her, can no longer feel the warmth between them. She is paralyzed, petrified, frozen.

Far far away she can feel Killian’s lips next to her ear, just a breath, IAmHere .

Emma’s brain goes numb. It’s impossible. She’s not even here. She’ll wake up, and when she does she will be in her bedroom, turning over to hit snooze, because none of this is real.

The boy laughs. It’s a terrible sound. Then he lifts his hand with a look of extreme concentration in his eyes, and Emma can feel her entire body start to tingle as if a low current was running through it. It feels like thousands of ants running under her skin, tickling and stinging and almost painful, and Killian’s arms wrap around her more tightly, as if he can feel it, too.

And then it cuts out all at once, and the boy lowers his hand.

“Ahhhh,” he says, an exhale of profound satisfaction. “Now that is what I’m looking for. Your magic is---” He cocks his head and smiles, a terrifying, cartoonish grimace. “ Compatible .” It sounds like he’s tasting something delicious.

He licks his lips. Emma can’t look away.

He leans forward, his voice an intimate whisper. “And I will suck you dry of every last bit of it. Every last shred of magic I will suck from your marrow, so I really hope you’ll do better than the last one. As a matter of fact, let’s start with an incentive.”

And he flicks his hand.

Lightning strikes like the crack of a whip, rips Killian’s arms from around her, throws him backwards,

sheer momentum towards the edge of the roof, and he stumbles

and he stumbles

tries to hold on to the edge, but his fingers miss,

she can see it

she can see him

and then he

falls

And all Emma can hear is herself.

Screaming.

-/-

“What. Just happened.”

August’s voice is pure steel and when he looks at David his eyes are just as hard. David nearly flinches. And then he realizes, fuck . He’s in charge here. He is the deputy. A deputy who just watched his sheriff, his sheriff and a Boston detective disappear into thin air, and fuck .

FUCK .

He is in no way equipped to deal with this.

But he is in charge, and it’s time to cowboy the fuck up.

Now.

“Ash,” Elsa’s voice is thin, bordering on hysterical. “Check for ash, check where they were standing, please---”

She falls silent, drops to the floor and lets her hands roam the dirty station linoleum, wiping the floor with her fingers, almost manic, as she repeats, “Please, please, please----”

“Hey,” August says gently and kneels down beside her. “Elsa, stop. Stop.” He very carefully takes her wrists, doesn’t let go when she tries to pull them away. “Elsa.” He says again. “There is no ash.”

He holds up her wrists, so that Elsa can see grime and dirt on her fingers, but no cinders of any kind, and whispers, “This is not like Liam.”

And Elsa leans forward and presses her hands to her eyes.

For a long moment they all listen to Elsa’s labored breathing, and then she frees herself from August’s embrace and looks up.

“A spell,” she says. Her voice is unsteady. “It was a spell. Killian accidentally read it out loud.”

David can see Ashley shake her head and mumble, That’sImpossible , can see Mary Margaret, her mouth a perfect, round O , can see Elsa, tear tracks on her cheeks and the doctor going WhatTheFuck , and then comes right back to the flint in August’s eyes.

“Where could they be?” Elsa sounds even more unsure now, and Ashley says, “Did those two just vanish? ”

And then, like a dam breaking, everyone starts to talk all at once.

It’s a wall of sound and noise, absolute bedlam, until David can no longer hear himself think and he yells out loud, “EVERYBODY SHUT UP. NOW! ”

And the room falls quiet.

August smiles and nods at him and it gives David courage. Not much. But enough.

“OK,” he says, going to the locker by the door and opening it. In it is a bank of fully-charged walkie talkies. “We don’t know what just happened.”

He looks at August. August nods again.

“But we saw Emma and Killian fucking disappear and they have to be somewhere .”

Elsa nods.

Ashley nods.

He can’t see Mary Margaret’s face, because she’s wandered over to the triskelion map.

“Now - in case they are in the vicinity of this town, let’s look. OK?”

This time everyone nods. David starts to hand out walkies.

“Everybody switch to channel two. You guys take everything north of Main Street,” he points at Victor and August. “Ashley, you and Elsa take everything south. Mary Margaret and I will---”

“Check the woods,” she cuts him off. “Look.” She points to the map. “I didn’t realize it before, but here’s the cabin. The cabin where Leroy stayed before he disappeared. Where you found the first set of notecards.”

And then she puts a pin at the center of Graham’s triskelion.

-/-

There is a moment.

A moment of pure peace and tranquility and the knowledge that his life is complete. Because he has loved.

It strikes him then, like the hammer to a bell, that this is what his life comes down to. The fact that he has loved. That he loves . Within the presence of pain and the absence of reason, the paths taken and missed and abandoned, the faces he can no longer remember and the ones he can never forget, he has loved. He has been loved.

The warmth inside him explodes, wraps around him like a cocoon of pure happiness and an armor of strength as he stumbles, backwards, with force,

through no will of his own

pulled

pushed

and then----

It’s all right, Emma.

I love you.

He hears a scream, hears something tear behind him, hears a whoosh and a crack and then

he’s

falling

-/-

“Do you hear that?”

Mary Margaret holds up a hand and David stops in his tracks to listen.

“I don’t hear anything,” he says.

“Exactly.” Mary Margaret’s brow furrows. “This isn’t quiet. November woods are quiet, obviously. There is much less animal activity in winter, but this is not quiet.” She looks at him. “This is silence .”

David tilts his head and tries to pay attention and realizes that Mary Margaret is right. There is no wind nor rain, no creaking of branches nor cracking of underbrush, and no trace of the thunder and the lightning they heard back at the station. Listening to his surroundings is like falling into a well; an oppressive, muzzled, claustrophobic absence of sound.

Mary Margaret takes his hand. Squeezes it like she’s holding on to him and he squeezes back just as hard. There is something out here, something unnatural and sinister, keeping the very air around them in a choke-hold, waiting for---

Whatever it is, it is not good. He knows that much for sure.

“Let’s get to the cabin.” All David can manage is a whisper.

It looks like all Mary Margaret can manage in return is a nod.

Then she lets go of his hand and turns to lead them away from the toll bridge, away from the river, and into the woods. David loses his bearings in less than a minute. The surrounding trees block out any view of the sky, not that it would have been of any help; it’s cloudy and the light is diffuse, coming from everywhere and nowhere. There are no shadows. It’s impossible to tell the direction of anything.

And then there is the silence which is just getting worse.

He can hardly hear Mary Margaret’s movements, and she’s only a few feet ahead of him.

Can hardly hear his own breathing, his own footsteps; even the fabric swish of his clothes is muted, off, distant. It feels like his body doesn’t belong to him.

“Hey,” he tries to say, but it comes out garbled, a sound without meaning, and he feels a spike of panic. Mary Margaret is speeding up, walking faster though terrain familiar to her, but not to him, and he is falling behind. Trees have already obscured her twice.

“Wait,” he tries again, but again there is no word, there is just muddled frequency, like the mumbling of adults in children’s cartoons. In front of him Mary Margaret is not slowing down, he can see the sleeve of her red jacket loping slightly left and he tries to catch up, but he can’t, not quite.

Panic spikes harder and then he lunges, takes two running steps, three, and then launches himself forward, catches the hem of Mary Margaret’s anorak, just barely, but he can feel fabric, closes his fist around nylon and gore tex and they both go down hard.

“David!” Her eyes are large and worried, and her body feels very small underneath his.

Her exclamation gets swallowed by the air around them. There is no resonance at all. No reverb, no echo, the sound does not carry. He is inches from her face and almost doesn’t hear her.

She stares at him, fear creeping into her features, as he tries to catch his breath.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. He can hardly hear the words inside his own head. Then he leans down to whisper directly into her ear. “Something is out here.”

He feels more than sees her shake her head.

“No.” She has put her own mouth to his ear in turn, and he feels her warm breath tickle. It’s such a small, mundane thing, but it’s comforting.

She takes a deep breath, and then adds, “This is not the presence of something. It is the absence of something.”

-/-

“Will you stop that ,” says the boy standing before her, and snaps his fingers. Emma’s scream is cut off like a clipped string, and she gasps.

“Don’t worry,” he goes on. “He’s not smeared across your pavement.” The boy smiles. It’s vicious. “Yet.”

He licks his lips, grins at her. His features, his limbs, his body give the illusion of a male not yet in his twenties, but the square of his shoulders, the arrogant ease of his bearing, the twist of his cruel mouth all beg to differ. In his movement is power, in his posture command, and his eyes--- his eyes are ancient.

This is not a boy.

This may not even be a human being.

He points up at the tear, blacker than black down the sides of the iridescent bubble, and says, “No, Emma Swan. Your boy is somewhere else entirely.”

Emma feels cold, colder than she ever has, feels the absence of Killian like a physical thing, like a soul-sucking, bone-chilling vortex of despair, and she can’t move a muscle.

Killian fell, fell like he did in every single vision, and she couldn’t stop it, should have stopped it, and what does he mean, somewhere else entirely ?

How on earth does he know her name?

He cocks his head as realization hits Emma and smiles his vicious smile again. There is an odd, childlike glee about him, which supports the impression of boyishness while it emphasizes how very much he is not one. It’s completely unnerving.

“What do you say we dispense with the pleasantries,” he adds with a casual wave of his hand, “and get down to business?”

And Emma finds herself nodding.

“Good,” he says. “Then let me introduce myself.” His smile becomes genuinely gracious for a brief moment as he takes a mocking bow. “My name is Peter. Peter Pan.”

Everything inside Emma constrics as if squeezed by a gigantic vise. Her heart actually skips a beat, and then stutters as it starts to beat twice as fast as before.

“Ahhhhh.” Pan raises a mocking eyebrow. “I see you’ve heard of me.”

Yes. Well. Emma has read the book.

Years ago in the back of a decrepit library, hiding from the psychological warfare battleground that is every middle school cafeteria, she read a book about a boy who did not want to grow up. To have this ‘boy‘ now standing before her, cruel and dirty, with his depraved smile and his eyes older than time and imbued with magic strong enough to tear the fucking fabric of reality , it’s simply too much.

Emma laughs out loud.

It’s thin and forced and lodged firmly south of hysteria, but it’s hers, and it’s sound, sound she’s making of her own free will, and it breaks the trance.

Something inside her rises, a steel core of pure will, because Killian is not out there on the pavement, he is somewhere else entirely , which means he is not dead, and she is not alone, and she is not losing him, not losing anyone to this figment of a story that should never have been told.

Because we all must grow up, sooner or later. Growing up is the point.

“I have heard of you, boy ,” she says, and hardly recognizes her own voice. Pan’s eyes narrow, but before he can open his mouth she adds, “And you already know who I am. So let’s do dispense with the pleasantries. Why are you here?”

-/-

It is dark. Darker than night.

He can just make out the tops of tall trees all around, a dark slope of hillside, and the rushing of fast water.

He is on the toll bridge.

Except that it’s not the toll bridge. This is not Storybrooke forest. It’s an echo of Storybrooke, a shadow version of it, devoid of light and life.

Killian shudders. It’s cold. He feels the absence of warmth, of Emma, of--- any living creature. The only reason he can see anything at all in this starless, moonless darkness, is because of a soft glow that comes from the railing of the bridge. He steps closer, and sees light, weak and faint, but there, emanating from the bottom of the bannister.

He crouches, remembers a different toll bridge a lifetime ago where he also crouched, where he reached for a wrist of warm skin and a pulse beating in time with his own.

Even if he didn’t know it then.

And then he leans back and looks up.

And there they are.

Runes, along the length of the railing, underneath the bannister, just like the ones up in Storybrooke, on the real toll bridge.

Ogham script runes.

Glowing.

-/-

“It’s really quite simple.” Pan leans forward. “And I’ve already told you. Not that I owe you any kind of explanation.” He quirks a vain eyebrow. “Neverland is running out of magic. The wellspring is running dry.” He licks his lips. “Your magic will replenish it.”

The wellspring is running dry. Emma can see Killian sitting at David’s desk, notecards in front of him, speaking about water eternal .

Neverland is real.

Her insides coil like a spring of a different kind. “Why not just take me then? Why kill all those people?”

Pan rolls his eyes. “Do you think I can just waltz into the Land without Magic any time I damn well please?”

“The Land without--- what do you mean?”

“Oh, you’re such a human, ” Pan scoffs. “You guys always think you’re the only game in town.”

Emma’s head is spinning, and she cannot stop thinking about Killian, and there is no spark.

“This is not like sending my shadow to snatch little kids from the comfort of their beds.” Pan’s eyes narrow. He is angry. “It takes power and skill to break the barriers. To travel between any realms is extremely difficult unless you’re a mermaid--- ” the word is loaded with almost lethal hatred--- “but to enter the Land without Magic is damn near impossible. Because, as the name suggests, it doesn’t have any magic. ”

The last sentence lands like a lead balloon at Emma’s feet, and she feels the truth of it, the inevitability. There is no magic. There never was.

“Then why are you here?” The questions stretches out into the unknown. Forever. The black iridescent bubble pulsates softly, but it doesn’t move.

There is no time here. Emma can feel it. The absence of time passing.

The absence of forward movement.

The eternal now.

“I am here because every once in a while, you do get someone with a spark.”

A spark. There is no spark.

“And if a spark of magic is powerful enough to surface here, in this realm, devoid of all forms of it, well---” He licks his lips again. “Then that is just the spark I need.”

He straightens up, looks at her with utter condescension.

“Now then, Emma, ” he sneers. “It has taken me considerable effort, not to mention vast amounts of Neverland magic and energy to breach the walls of this realm for a second time. Let’s see if you’re of more use than the last one.”

Elsa on a couch in her living room, surrounded by dozens of pictures of a smiling dead man, saying in that low voice full of infinite sadness, “It told me to unleash my magic.”

Saying, “It said it was here for my power.”

Saying, “I didn’t know and I couldn’t do what it asked, and then my husband died.”

Sobbing.

There is no spark.

Instead, Emma remembers.

Something else.

-/-

On a deserted road near the north side of the town line, a medical examiner and a psychiatrist look at each other, exhausted.

The ME picks up the walkie strapped to her belt and presses the talk button.

“We got nothing up here,” she says. “How about you guys?”

Near the southern end of that same town line, a doctor and a former detective look just as exhausted and the ex cop shakes his head. “Nothing,” he responds. “And we’ve covered every scrap below Main Street.”

“Yeah,” comes the reply. “Same here. What about you, David?”

They wait, the four of them, two north and two south, wait, but nothing happens.

Static cracks twice, leaves the silence even quieter than before each time.

And then with a burst of white noise all the walkies go dead.

-/-

The runes are Ogham but the language is nothing Killian has ever encountered. It is neither Old Norse nor Manx nor anything he’s ever seen. It seems to not even be made up of words, it is merely lines representing sound, sound without meaning, and he shudders again.

It is so, so cold.

But above him the runes are still glowing, and he shakes his head and takes a deep breath.

What does he have to lose.

He exhales slowly and starts to read them out loud.

-/-

“No,” Emma says, and looks at Pan. “This is different. You just said you breached the barrier for the second time, but--- I don’t think you’ve been here before. Not physically.”

Elsa talking about the sparks and the howling resolving into words, and all of them, every last one of the people involved with this case calling the culprit ‘it’.

None of them have seen this Lost Boy.

This is his first time in the Land without Magic.

“She was weak .” The disdain and pure hatred in Pan’s voice are absolute. “Do you know what it cost me? To reach into this soul-sucking void and siphon enough energy to even attempt to open the rift?”

“Siphon enough---” Emma gasps. “ That’s why you killed those people? For their life force?”

“What else? I needed massive amounts of energy, needed it to power complicated spells and massive magical forces, and it’s not like you have any other power source in this vacuum.” He sneers. “And then I had her, I almost had her, and she failed. ”

He looks at Emma, eyes burning, deranged.

“She was bound to your laws of physics and science. Couldn’t imagine anything outside of it. Couldn’t fathom the very concept of magic. Not even when I ripped her husband through a tear in your precious space-time continuum.” He leans towards Emma, his face inches from hers. “I thought it would bring out her spark like it has yours, but nothing. NOTHING! ”

The last word is a scream, and then Emma feels it.

A small frisson of energy, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

-/-

In the complete and utter silence that surrounds them, Mary Margaret squeezes his hand again, hard, and David looks up.

There it is.

The cabin. The cabin where it all began.

They walk up to it together, hands linked, and David would give anything to be able to go in alone, to leave Mary Margaret out here, outside, out of danger, but he knows she would never let him. He looks at her, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed with a look of pure determination, listening even in this absence of sound, all senses on high alert, and realizes---

He needs her.

He needs her to do this with him.

He cannot do it alone.

The stand still before the entrance and she looks at him and nods. It means more than he could possibly tell her. His jaw muscle jumps as he reins himself in and then nods back and squares his shoulders.

They enter the cabin together. It looks exactly the same. Evidence numbers still mark blood spatter and fluids, thin shafts of light fall through small windows, the silence around them is absolute, and then David hears it.

Hears it.

From far, far away comes the sound. Of a voice.

-/-

He looks at her with those blue eyes and that soft smile. Like she’s the only person on the planet.

“I know you can do it, love.”

His voice is warm and sure and he takes her hands.

Emma opens her eyes and feels it

feels it

the spark, the flame, and the roaring fire,

she has power

she is power

and no boy demon with a god complex and a complete disregard for human life will tell her what to do with it. She will save those she can and mourn those she can’t and she will get Killian back from wherever Pan sent him, because she deserves this, she deserves to have this one, good, beautiful thing in her life, and because she loves---

She turns and looks straight at Pan and he flinches. He is afraid. It causes a thrum of extreme satisfaction inside Emma, and then she feels it.

Warmth.

Pulsing.

Oh, yes. She is power .

“Where is he.” Her voice is steel and flint and no mercy. “Tell me.” She watches Pan shrug, but it looks more like a shudder. “Tell me now. ”

The boy who isn’t squares his shoulders and raises his hand and Emma can feel energy, sharp and volatile, flowing from him, trying to counter her own.

“I don’t know,” he says.

It’s a lie. Emma knows lies. And his power is no match for hers.

“Tell me,” she says again, and then Pan lifts his other hand.

With a crack the tear in the bubble opens and out pours power ,

so much power,

jagged pulses stabbing at her, ripping through her, around her, tearing at her like carnivores to the slaughter, and in the middle Pan, smiling, harnessing, focusing it, until it becomes one flowing line, directed at her.

Emma can feel electric arcs flash between her fingers, a crackling of energy as her spark explodes , and then they burst forth in a solid beam of bright white light.

The warmth inside her rises, pressure so hard it pounds in her temples as she tries to control the beam, as she tries not to think, as she strains to aim it at Pan, but then---

A strike of lightning, a bolt of pure power, blindingly blue and viciously acute, hits her square in the chest.

It nearly breaks her in half.

It cuts off her breath, forces the air from her lungs, doubles her over. The energy flowing from her hands cuts out with a pop loud enough to burst her eardrums and dissipates and all Emma can feel is pain.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come prepared,” Pan’s voice hisses, “do you think you’re the first person to think of fighting back?”

Emma falls to her knees. Tries to get air into her lungs, but all around her is static, arcing in buzzing, humming flashovers, and she cannot breathe .

The force coming at her is so strong she feels like she’s being torn apart from the inside, her cells straining to hold together and not let her disintegrate into an aerosol spray of blood and lymph and lipids, and still it comes

still it comes---

“Your power is mine , Savior.” Pan’s voice seems to come from everywhere at once.

Emma’s body is screaming. Her heart is hammering so hard it may actually beat out of her chest, and then suddenly the energy changes and starts to pull from her.

It feels like everything inside her, everything she is and was and ever will be is being sucked out into an endless void and she can feel her power, her life force, her very essence torn from her straining cells like marrow sucked from a bone---

gushing

spouting

hemorrhaging

draining her down to a useless pile of bones

it hurts

so much

Emma screams.

She gasps like a fish on dry land, tiny, useless bits of air, as her fingertips sputter and fizz, as she tries to get up, as the warmth seeps from her spasming body, she howls---

a sound of pure and desperate frustration as she tries,

tries,

tries to get up ---

“I am so tired of your theatrics,” Pan says, disdain dripping from every syllable. “Now shut up and serve your purpose.”

And he snaps his fingers.

Blackness swirls out from the tear, blacker than night, blacker than death, and she can feel it wrap around her, can feel herself being sucked into a vortex of nothing, a void of silence and grief and despair and she suddenly realizes.

She is going to lose.

-/-

As Killian reads, the runes start to glow brighter, start to hum, start to vibrate and warmth, warmth starts to spread through his frozen limbs, so he keeps reading, his voice steady, his thoughts on Emma, and the warmth spreads and spreads and fills him until he feels her,

he feels her

fighting, straining, with everything she has, just outside of,

just outside of---

He can feel a presence behind him---

“David!” Mary Margaret screams and suddenly the voice echoes all around them, speaking words David doesn’t know, can’t place, can’t even tell apart, but the voice is warm somehow, steady, not threatening, and then----

light explodes into the cabin

brighter than sunshine, brighter than daylight, and Mary Margaret links her fingers through his and stretches out her other hand, towards the light that curls around her fingers, wraps around her arm, and grows brighter and brighter

he can feel it

pulsing

feeding off of him and the woman holding his hand, but David

is not afraid----

Down the deserted roads to the north and the south of the town line, two people each watch in awe as a bright white beam of light shoots straight up out of the forest and into the sky, lighting up the dark clouds, burning them away, and then curves,

curves

gracefully

towards the center of town

towards the roof of the town hall

and then something screams, loud enough for them to hear it, over a mile away

and then a black cloud explodes, wisps and wings and streams of darkness torn asunder, still screaming, dissipating

and four people break into a run----

Emma feels it the moment before it hits, feels a surge of warmth and more energy and then a bright beam of white light pierces the bubble and tears it to shreds and there is the howling she’s heard in her head,

there is the blackness, the wind, and the red sparks,

there is the heartbeat

Across from her is Pan, his face a grimace of pain and fury,

behind him is the tear, starting to glow

around her wrap the tendrils of light that splintered the bubble

and she can hear the outside world again, can feel that heartbeat that isn’t hears, can feel Elsa and Ashley and Victor and August out in the streets of Storybrooke, looking for her, for Killian, for them,

can feel David and Mary Margaret, love and power, inside the beam

can feel herself becoming this power

and then

she hears his voice, his voice , calm and steady and oh so lovely, as it speaks to her in sounds she doesn’t know but somehow understands and she turns

steps forward

and pushes, pushes Pan backwards, towards the edge of the roof, towards the tear that is now white light and flame pulsing

and Pan screams as she hauls him with the strength of her whole body, he howls as she throws him and the tear swallows him whole----

But it doesn’t close.

There is something inside of it.

Something reaching out to her, a heart beating with force, desperate, hopeful, until that heartbeat is everything she hears, everything she feels, and with her last burst of energy she reaches into the tear and starts to pull

pull

Behind her the door to the rooftop opens and they spill out of it, Elsa and Ashley and Victor and August, but she doesn’t see them, doesn’t notice, because she can feel him now

she can feel him

and the heartbeat splits ,

separates

becomes two heartbeats

as she pulls and pulls and pulls and pulls

and Pan is still howling, trying to claw back to her side

and August is holding on to Victor who is holding on to Ashley who is holding on to Elsa who is holding on to Emma as she pulls

and pulls

her bones and muscles and tendons screaming

screaming in pain and pressure and tension, but she is not losing this

she is not losing him

and then

everything

shatters

When Emma opens her eyes the sky above her is blue. There’s not a cloud in the pale November sunshine. A soft, chilly breeze caresses her face.

The world is still, but not silent.

She can hear slow movement and groaning as the people around her struggle to their feet, and she sits up.

It’s an ordinary rooftop. Not even very high. There are no signs of battle.

To her left August and Victor are pulling each other up, and behind her she can hear Ashley and Elsa asking “Everybody all right?”, and in front of her, near the edge of the rooftop---

“Emma?”

She starts to sob, because he’s there, scruff and wild hair and worried blue eyes, he’s here, he’s here , getting up and wiping his hands and walking towards her and she has never ever ever seen anything as wonderful, as amazing in her whole entire life as this man who hauls her to her feet and hugs her and hugs her and hugs her until he’s sobbing, too.

“I am never letting go,” she says.

“I don’t want you to,” he replies.

They stay like that, for minutes that feel like hours, his nose in the crook of her neck and her head buried in his chest, until Emma hears another voice say, “Killian?”

This is not a voice she has ever heard before.

It doesn’t belong to any of them.

She looks up and sees a man stepping forward from behind a fan casing, a tall man with close-cropped brown hair and haunted eyes and a puzzled expression on his face, a face Emma has seen smiling and laughing inside a hundred picture frames, his eyes glued to Killian’s back and then next to her Emma can feel more than hear Elsa take a ragged breath, and another, and whisper, “It can’t be,” and then August bolts forward to catch Elsa as she faints.

And at that moment the rooftop door opens and expels David and Mary Margaret, stumbling, winded, Mary Margaret trying hard to catch her breath, and then David says, “What did we miss?”

EPILOGUE

“As far as I can tell it’s gone.”

Emma holds up her hands. Bare hands, utterly ordinary. There is no spark.

Killian simply pulls her back against him. He has not been out of contact for the last 24 hours and if Emma has anything to say about it, he never will be. She still feels warm only when pressed against him, feels the peace of hearing his heartbeat when she lays her head on his chest, but there is no spark.

She is happy there isn’t.

“Do you miss it?” Killian’s voice is soft.

“No,” she says. “I never really had it.”

“I love you.” He smiles at her. “I love you so much.”

They are wrapped around each other on her couch, her ratty, comfortable couch, in her wonderfully comfy warm living room, and she never wants to move another muscle.

“I love you, too,” she says. “Do we have to leave?”

“You know we do,” he says quietly.

Emma groans.

But he’s right, dammit.

-/-

Everyone is already at the station when they get there.

Elsa and the tall man look like they’re trying to occupy the same space. The man briefly breaks away to give Killian a long, hard hug, and then gravitates right back to Elsa as Killian moves right back next to Emma.

There will be time for them later.

August is still wiping his eyes off and on.

“Look,” David says, because someone has to break the silence. “It’s not like we can ever tell anyone what happened.”

“Or fully understand it,” says Mary Margaret.

“Or fully understand it,” David echoes. “But I figured that maybe we want to talk about it once, while we’re all still together.”

“And have slept.” Ashley grins. “Or at least I slept. Some people in this room may not have.”

She gets up and walks over to Elsa and the tall man. “I’m assuming you’re the famous Liam?”

He nods. “I don’t know about famous, but Liam I am.”

Emma smiles and Elsa rolls her eyes, but then she returns Emma’s smile with such a brilliant one of her own, Emma is blinded for a moment.

“Look,” Liam says. “I know you all want to know where I’ve been and how I got back here, but I can’t tell you. I--- wasn’t.”

“You don’t have to talk about it here,” Elsa says.

“Or ever,” Killian adds, and Emma has to grin at the utterly annoyed psychiatrist-look Elsa shoots him.

The rest of them nod, but Liam shakes his head.

“No, you don’t understand. It wasn’t awful or anything. It just--- wasn’t. One moment I was in my living room in Boston and the next I just--- was not.” He lifts his hands. “I can’t really explain it. It’s like I was sleeping. I don’t remember being . Until suddenly I found myself on a bridge.”

Killian draws a sharp breath and Emma wraps her arms around his waist, squeezes until she feels him relax.

“It took me a long time to remember who I was.” He looks at Elsa. “Took me a long time to remember you.” His voice is quiet.

“It’s OK,” she says, and leans up to kiss him.

When they finally pull apart, there is not a shred of embarrassment between them.

“At least I think it took a long time.” Liam says. “I don’t know if time passed there.” He falls quiet. Nobody moves for a very long moment.

Then Emma walks over to the whiteboard. “Let’s look at what we know.” She points at August’s graphic. “Neverland was running out of magic, and Pan was trying to harvest it here.” She laughs and says, “There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.” From out of the corners of her eyes she can see a lot of nodding.

“Originally he found Elsa. Opened a small rift and started reaching through it to murder people and siphon their life force in order to make the rift bigger. Big enough for him to go through.”

“It’s highly likely that he’s been doing this for centuries,” Killian adds. “Millennia, possibly. Think about it. Time doesn’t exist in Neverland, but all that life force has to come from somewhere. The fact that the spells carved on the victims were mimicking human language tells me that there must have been contact, contact dating back many, many generations.” He scratches behind his right ear as he tries to harness his next thought. “And think of the lore-- all those stories of magic and otherworldly creatures, on the Isle of Man especially. There is so much of it -- in Norse mythology as well. So many similar stories and legends, all of them incredibly detailed considering they are more than a thousand years old. Some more than two thousand. I think this has been going on for a very long time.”

Emma feels a rush of fondness watching him explain, features animated, hand gestures making his points, every inch the nerdy professor, and in that moment she loves him so much it almost hurts.

When he turns to look at her again, eyes shining and so very in his element, she vows to herself that his detective days have to draw to a close.

This man needs to be around books again, books, and scholars, and ivy covered walls. Or at the very least walls not spattered in blood and urine.

She nods, along with the rest of them, because he’s making perfect sense. “When we were fighting Pan asked if I thought I was “the first one to fight back”. It would support your hypothesis.”

Killian beams at her after the word ‘hypothesis’. They are going to have so much fun later, using that word in a completely different context. It will be the most educated dirty talk ever . She grins at the thought and then clears her throat to cover the heat that just shot into her cheeks and turns back to the board.

“So with each sacrifice Pan gets stronger, and the sacrifices link through the quill--- wait.” She looks at Ashley. “That’s why you couldn’t name the elements. It’s from an animal that’s from a whole different plane of existence.”

“Nicely put,” says the ME. “My supposition exactly.”

“Then what about the connections?” Emma asks. “If all you had to do to be next in line was touch the quill, why are we all connected?”

“I don’t know if this helps,” Liam says, and looks at Killian. “I remembered you last, LB.” He shakes his head again. “And I can’t explain it, but the moment I did, I got the urge to write down these sounds I kept hearing all around me. Write them down somewhere they would last, but not easily seen, so I carved them into the bannister of the bridge. On the down side.”

“How?” Elsa stares at him. “Liam - how did you write a language you don’t know, in a script you don’t know?”

“I heard your heartbeat,” Emma whispers. “The day I met Killian, I started to hear your heartbeat.”

Liam’s brow furrows. “My heartbeat? How could you possibly hear my---”

“I think you called me,” Killian says, a slight tremor to his voice. “I think you called me--- to the case, to Storybrooke, and to---”

His voice cuts out. Emma glances up at him, and oh, the look he gives her.

Sorrow and joy and pain and happiness and so, so much love.

She can’t speak for a moment.

She only snaps out of it when August clears his throat. Loudly.

“Connection,” she says. “Whatever the magic was that Pan was after, I don’t think it was just inside Elsa and me. I think it connected us all. Look at all of us, here. And all of us who---” she swallows hard-- “cannot be here, but were part of this.”

Killian takes her hand. The warmth still flows.

“It was love,” he says, his voice soft and fond. “All of it. Love is not just romantic love. Graham taking recovering addicts to find themselves in nature. Dr Boyd finding a stubborn orphan on a bench and seeing something inside her, enough to make an effort to change her life.” He squeezes Emma’s fingers, hard. “August picking up a newborn by the side of the road when he was just a little boy himself. Even Victor---” he smiles wistfully--- “finding connection and solace in a back room. Love is a very powerful thing. I think it would transcend realms and language and just respond to need.”

They all fall silent, and then Elsa clears her throat. “Were we all connected by circumstance? By a series of events? Or did these events all happen to us because we were connected?” She smiles. “Who knows? But in the end---” she looks up at Liam, who smiles down at her with the exact same smile Killian has when he smiles at Emma--- “what does it matter? We’re here.”

She kisses her husband. “We’re here, and he’s gone, and we can chop this up six ways from Sunday, and we will--- ” she looks around-- “but we may never fully understand it and I for one need a fucking drink.”

And Liam smiles and says, “That’s my girl.”

-/-

That night, after grilled cheese sandwiches and fries and lots and lots of drinks, after laughter and lightness and a moment of silence for the departed---

after August proclaims he cannot wait another fucking moment and hauls Victor up the stairs, and David says something much more polite which amounts to exactly the same thing and pulls Mary Margaret out of the diner at a near run---

after Ashley drives back to Bangor and Elsa and Liam get into a car headed for Boston and all the good-byes are finally said---

finds Emma and Killian back on her ratty, comfortable couch, in her wonderfully comfy warm living room, and Emma sighs as Killian bends down to kiss her.

“I don’t want to move again,” she says. “I am so tired.”

Killian’s lip quirks and he looks at her as his tongue does something absolutely indecent and his eyes flash.

“I could move a bit ,” he says, and then he gets up and in one fell swoop throws her over his shoulder and Emma screams a laugh.

“OK OK OK!” she shrieks, and then laughs again, because he’s stomping down the hallway to the bedroom and then he just dives them onto the bed and goes very still on top of her.

“I don’t want you to worry,” he says.

Emma’s laugh catches in her throat.

“Worry?” she asks.

“About the future,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

God, how she loves him.

“Good,” she says, voice a little bit choked.

“Wherever we go, we go together,” he says. His eyes are large and so, so serious, and she almost doesn’t notice that the last part sounded like a question.

But she does notice.

“Together,” she says, and feels him exhale. “Together, wherever we go.”

He smiles. Smiles that soft, fond smile of his. “I love you so much.”

She smiles back. Happy and sure. “I love you, too.”

Then his grin becomes impish and he twitches his hips.

“How much?” He asks, and it sounds absolutely wicked.

“Let me show you,” she whispers, and flips them around.

THANK YOU AGAIN, EACH AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU, FOR BEING SO WONDERFUL.

LOVE AND HUGS!!!!!

.💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

#cs fic #cs fic rec #thisonesatellite #if you live by the word #sheriff!Emma #detective!Killian #the battle #the end #and everything after #strap in guys #BATTLE STATIONS #HERE WE GO

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years ago

Text

The Christmas Wish: 1/4

Merry Christmas, @snowbellewells ! You have become such a sweet friend to me, so I wanted to gift you with something this holiday season. Since we were talking about Hallmark Christmas movies the other day, I thought the perfect gift would be writing you a Captain Swan version of one! I hope you enjoy it and have a wonderful Christmas with your family.

Many thanks to @kmomof4 for being my beta when I know this week is busy with your family. Thank you so much, my dear friend!

This has four parts and one chapter will be posted each day this week, with the last one posting on Christmas Eve. It is loosely based on a Hallmark movie starring Jessie Schram, funny enough, called The Birthday Wish. This fic is set in 3b, but sticking to canon didn’t work at all with what I wanted to do, so it ended up being canon divergent. I think the only canon part that remains is Zelena. There’s no Rumple, no Neal, no cursed lips, no time travel. Yeah, I know, not much canon left, haha. Let’s just say this is more character driven . . . .

Summary: Emma leaned forward, closed her eyes, and a wish bubbled up unbidden from the depths of her heart. "I wish I could just have a simple, domestic life. Is that even in the cards for me?" Breath left her on an exhale just as the wish floated through her mind, and the candle blew out. The "answer" to her wish had to be some kind of trick, however. After all, it wasn’t as if anything in the vision she received could ever in a million years be real. It was ridiculous. Captain Hook, the father of three driving a minivan? Impossible.

Rated G for Hallmark movie levels of fluff and Christmas feels

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @teamhook @xhookswenchx @bethacaciakay @whimsicallyenchantedrose @welllpthisishappening @optomisticgirl @hookedonapirate @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @spartanguard @let-it-raines @tiganasummertree @vvbooklady1256 @scientificapricot @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @ohmakemeahercules @hollyethecurious @ultraluckycatnd @jrob64 @wellhellotragic @winterbythesea @winterbaby89 @lfh1226-linda @carpedzem @thesschesthair @resident-of-storybrooke @cutieodonoghue @justbecauseyoubelievesomething @juliakaze @thisonesatellite @therealstartraveller776 @thislassishooked @profdanglaisstuff @killian-whump

Chapter One: The Vision

“Mom, come on! It’s already started!”

Emma hadn’t seen her son this excited since they left New York. Henry was standing in the open door of their room at Granny’s, shifting with nervous excitement from one foot to the other. Emma was on her hands and knees with her head halfway under the bed. Where the hell had her other boot gotten to? It couldn’t have just disappeared. Then again, this was Storybrooke . . .

“Everything alright, lass?”

The sound of Hook’s voice made Emma jerk backwards and smack her head against the bed frame. She scowled at the pirate who was now standing at Henry’s side as she sat up on her knees rubbing the lump that was rising on her head.

“Where’d you come from?” she muttered as she rose to her feet. A dust bunny tumbled from her messy hair, tickling her nose and making her sneeze.

“Sorry,” Hook apologized with a slight smirk that made her think he wasn’t all that sorry.

“I can’t find my damn boot,” Emma snapped at him, almost as if it were his fault.

“Want me to help you look, love?”

“Mo-om,” Henry whined.

“Actually,” Emma replied, pushing her hair out of her face with one hand so she could look at the pair in her doorway - one on the cusp of adolescence and the other looking far more handsome than he had a right to in those ridiculous pirate clothes. Anyone else would look like they were headed to a tacky Halloween party. “Could you take Henry down to the Christmas carnival?”

“I thought we were going together!” Henry exclaimed.

Mom guilt slammed into her at his crestfallen expression. Between figuring out this new curse and trying to stay one step ahead of this wicked witch (Wicked Witch of the West? Seriously?), Emma knew she had neglected time with Henry. It was so different from what he had been used to in the life they had built in New York, and she hated letting him down. Not to mention that at twelve, Henry wouldn’t be wanting to hang out with her for too much longer, and she was missing it.

“I’ll be right down. It’s gotta be around here somewhere.” She really needed to buy an extra pair of boots, but frugal habits born of so many years on the streets didn’t go away easily.

“I’ll guard him with my life if necessary,” Hook swore to her solemnly.

Henry rolled his eyes. “First off, I’m twelve, not two. Second, it’s a Christmas carnival. What’s going to happen? I get hit in the head with a candy cane?”

Hook just arched a brow at her, and she shook her head ruefully. Little did Henry know. Sometimes his lack of memories stabbed her with even more feelings of guilt. She waved him off.

“I know, I know. Just get down there and teach Killian how to overdose on Christmas sugar.”

“Will do,” he told her joyfully as he shot off towards the stairs, Killian hurrying after him.

Emma collapsed onto the bed for a minute once they were gone. She’d told her mom

that having a Christmas carnival on Main Street was a bad idea with the Wicked Witch still out there. On the other hand, she had yanked Henry out of school, dragged him away from his friends and the life he had known, and brought him to this bizarro town. Now he was having to celebrate Christmas here, too. They didn’t have a tree or the Christmas decorations they had bought together last year. They hadn’t made cookies and hot chocolate for their annual viewing of Home Alone. Of course, technically, it was only annual in memories that weren’t real, but that was beside the point. The point was she was now ruining her son’s Christmas too. Ever since he heard about the Christmas Carnival, he’d set aside his Nintendo DS and his cell phone for the longest span of time since they’d arrived here.

Emma got up and resumed her search for that elusive right boot. She finally found it wedged beside the TV, hidden by the window curtains. She yanked both boots on, then turned to glance at her reflection in the mirror. She frowned at her tangled hair and grabbed a brush. Once her golden hair was glistening and smooth, she grabbed her lipstick and reapplied it. It wasn’t until she was touching up her mascara that she scowled at herself in the mirror.

Who exactly are you primping for, Emma?

She refused to answer her own subconscious as she tossed the mascara angrily onto the vanity. It bounced and slid into the sink, but she just left it there and marched out the door.

The Christmas Carnival was literally on her doorstep, filling the street in both directions from Granny’s patio. A choir of children from the elementary school stood on a stage near the post office belting out Christmas carols, led by someone who looked a lot like Mary Poppins (she probably was Mary Poppins, Emma thought with a chuckle). Leroy and some of the other dwarves had gathered around a booth where you were supposed to toss as many bean bags as you could into the mouth of a giant wooden snowman. Merry Men cheered and laughed as they took turns trying to pop balloons in a dart game. There were plenty of other typical carnival games: ring tosses, coin drops, wheel spinners, and one of those “go fish” games where kids tossed a clothes pin at the end of a string over a blanket and one of the nuns from the convent attached a bag of Christmas candy. There were also merchants with booths selling all sorts of handmade Christmas gifts, and food booths offering everything from hot chocolate to corn dogs to cotton candy.

She found Killian and Henry fairly quickly. They had found David at the strong man game. She chuckled to see her father spitting on his hands and rubbing them together before lifting a mallet and slamming it down. A bell went flying up, ringing loudly and impressively as it almost reached the top of the strong man game. With a smirk, her father offered the mallet to Killian. Emma rolled her eyes but couldn’t look away as Killian took off his coat. He really needed to go without that long coat more often, she liked the figure he cut in those tight leather pants -

“Are you kidding me?”

Emma jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. She turned to see Mary Margaret shaking her head as she watched the men.

“That is just unfair,” she continued. “I know your father is wary of Hook’s feelings towards you, but to challenge him to that game . . . “

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know . . . “

Emma crossed her arms over her chest and leveled her mother with a scathing look. “Know what?”

“He, um . . . well, that is, he only . . . “

“Only has one hand?”

“Well yeah.”

Emma arched a brow and gave her mother a smug grin. “I think Killian can handle himself.”

Right on cue, Hook swung the mallet with his good arm, and the bell flew up. It didn’t make it as far as her father’s swing, but it was still damn good. Emma smiled as she watched her father slap Killian on the back.

“Killian is it?” her mother asked pointedly.

Emma turned to take in her mother’s curious stare. She tightened her arms further around herself. “Uh, yeah, that’s his name. It’s the name we use around Henry, so you know . . . “

“Okay,” her mother teased, a smirk of her own teasing her lips. She changed the subject, however, by lifting a plate holding a cupcake into Emma’s line of sight. “Happy Birthday!”

Emma cocked her head. “Birthday?”

Her mother sighed. “I know it was almost two months ago. Yet one more moment I missed. I wanted to make it up to you.”

“It’s okay, really.” Emma took the plate and looked at the cupcake. It was chocolate with white icing and blue sprinkles. “It’s not really Christmas-y. Where did you get it?”

“A cupcakery opened along with the new curse. Felicity’s.”

“Is that her real name?”

“It is.”

Emma snorted loudly. “Cute.”

Mary Margaret grinned. “I know.” She threaded her arm through Emma’s and steered her towards a group of picnic tables set up beneath some fairy lights. Emma let her mother pull her to the table and sat down with the cupcake between them. Mary Margaret pulled something out of her pocket with a proud smile. “Felicity even gave me a candle and some matches!”

“Really?” Emma asked with raised brows as her mother stuck the candle into the cupcake. It was sparkling blue with a star on top.

“Mhm,” her mother said, “I told her it was for you and how I missed your birthday, and she wanted it to be special. The cupcake is special too, she said. It’s her Sugar Plum Fairy cupcake, and she was almost sold out. This was the last one.”

Emma spun the cake around, eyeing it. She had obviously been in town way too long if she was suspicious of an innocuous cupcake. The woman owned a cupcakery, for heaven’s sake! She had to sell the damn things. And what better way to drum up business than to pay extra special attention to Snow White? Emma let out a breath as she told herself to just relax and enjoy the cupcake. The bright pink and glittery decorations may not be her style, but it was chocolate, and you couldn’t go wrong with chocolate in Emma’s opinion.

Her mother lit the candle, her eyes sparkling as she sang “Happy Birthday.” Emma squirmed, never comfortable with such attention, praying no one else heard the song.

“Make a wish!” her mother exclaimed.

Emma bit her bottom lip as she suddenly remembered the last time she had made a wish on a cupcake. She had wished that she didn’t have to be alone on her birthday, and seconds later, Henry had knocked on her door.

So Emma leaned forward, closed her eyes, and a wish bubbled up unbidden from the depths of her heart. I wish I could just have a simple, domestic life. Is that even in the cards for me? Breath left her on an exhale just as the wish floated through her mind, and the candle blew out.

“Hey, where’d you get the cupcake?”

Emma opened her eyes to see Henry standing beside her. Behind him were her dad and Hook. Even as her son eyed her cupcake jealously, he shoved a forkful of funnel cake into his mouth. She chuckled.

“I didn’t buy it at the carnival,” Mary Margaret explained. “I bought it at a bakery specially for your mom.”

“Why?”

Her mother, who had the world’s worst poker face, went slack jawed and stammered as she looked at her daughter. Emma calmly removed the candle, licked the icing off, then started to peel away the wrapper before she answered her son.

“Because I helped her set up her baby registry the other day, and after two hours of agonizing over strollers, high chairs, and onesies, she owed me.”

It was only half a lie. Emma had helped her mom register at Storybrooke’s only baby store. Named, naturally, The Stork’s Nest. And it was also true that the experience had been torturous enough to earn her dozens of cupcakes.

She still wished she didn’t have to lie to her son - even half lies.

*******************************************

When Emma awoke the next morning to blurred surroundings, she wasn’t alarmed at first. It always took her a minute to fully awake and adjust her eyes to the morning light. But when she couldn’t see well enough to even find her phone on the nightstand, worry gripped her. She sat up abruptly in bed, trying to blink the sleep away. She squinted, and still all she could see was a white blur that she assumed was the sun streaming through the window and around it only blurry gray. She groped in the general vicinity of the nightstand, knocking over the lamp. She swore loudly as it crashed to the floor.

“Mom!” Henry shouted as he burst through the door.

Emma turned towards his voice, assuming that the moving brown blur in front of her was her son. “I’m . . . fine,” she lied, not wanting to alarm him. “Just go downstairs and ask Granny’s help to go get your gr - I mean, David.”

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

She pressed her lips together and took a sharp breath in through her nose. “Just go, Henry, okay?”

She heard him grumble something under his breath about how he wasn’t a little kid anymore, but she heard the door to their rooms open and close anyway. While he was gone, she rubbed at her eyes, then opened them again, but still she couldn't’ see a damn thing.

“Swan?” Hook’s alarmed voice cried out as he burst into the room.

“Killian?” She squinted at the big black blur in her doorway that she assumed was the man in question.

“I know you said to get David,” came Henry’s voice as a smaller brown blur joined the larger black one, “but I ran into Killian in the hall, and I know him better, so . . . “

“It’s okay, Henry, just give me and Killian a minute.”

“I want to know what’s going on!”

“I know, kid,” she said, her voice softening, “and I’ll explain in just a minute, I promise.”

Henry made no reply, at least none she could tell. She heard the door to her bedroom shut and sensed Hook drawing closer.

“What is it, love?”

“I can’t see,” she confessed softly, reaching out a hand for him.

“What?”

She could clearly hear the strained concern in his voice. Her hand found his, and she used him as leverage to stand up from the bed. He was closer than she had anticipated, and she awkwardly bumped against his chest.

“I mean, except for a light blur over there, and a dark blur I assume is you, I. Can’t. See.”

Emma thought ironically of those black frames with the clear lenses she had worn for

merely fashion reasons back when she was a teenager. They seemed incredibly stupid now.

“How long has this been going on?” Killian must have bent his head closer to hers because his breath was hot against her cheek.

“How long? I just woke up this way!”

“This must be some kind of sorcery, love. You don’t just lose your sight overnight.”

Do you? Emma wondered. She vaguely remembered some movie she had seen once where a woman woke up suddenly blind. It was probably a Lifetime movie, though, and she wouldn’t call those medically accurate by any stretch of the imagination. Nevertheless, she gripped Hooks arms tighter and shook her head.

“Maybe it’s magic, maybe not. Either way, get my phone, call my Dad, and ask him to drive me to the doctor, okay?”

“That will waste too much time. Maybe I could -”

“You can’t drive, and I don't’ think this warrants a 911 call.”

Did Storybrooke even have 911? She should look into that.

“As you wish,” was all Killian said, his voice solemn. The words took her back to a hot jungle, his lips on hers, and his hand tangled in her hair. She swallowed thickly as she pulled her hands away from him. He reached around her, and then she heard the familiar beeping sounds as he opened up her phone. She was glad she had given him that cell phone crash course the first time he’d watched Henry for her.

“And Killian?”

“Yes?”

“Can you explain this to Henry for me? Without freaking him out?”

“Of course.”

Then he brushed a kiss across her brow and swept from the room, leaving her flustered. He’d done it so swiftly, without hesitation, as if it were something he did everytime he told her goodbye. Maybe it had been unintentional?

Needless to say, it had been a weird morning.

*********************************************

“Is your sight coming back?” her father asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice as he drove through the streets of Storybrooke.

Emma squinted out the window of her dad’s truck. “That really bright blue to my right is the ocean I’m guessing?”

“That’s a no, then.”

A strained silence fell between them, but what could Emma say? She hated to worry him, but there was no denying this was really, really bad.

“You sure we shouldn’t go straight to Regina?”

“Not yet,” Emma told him, “let’s rule out a physical cause first.”

“I don’t know if that’s any better than a spell.”

“Believe me,” she muttered, “I know.”

“Your mom Googled it already -”

“That’s never good.”

“- and people with green eyes are at higher risk for eye cancer and macular degeneration.”

“Not helping, Dad.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “It is good to hear you call me Dad again, though.”

Emma’s eyes blurred even further with her sudden tears. “Sorry I can only seem to say it in crisis situations.”

“Hey, all in good time. When you’re ready.”

He released her hand, and Emma resisted the urge to grab it again. She was so thankful to have him with her. How many times had she fantasized about parents who would take care of her when she was sick? Though she would have preferred something less dramatic than sudden blindness. A cold and some chicken soup, maybe.

“I know I’m not the best judge of this at the moment, but aren’t we going the wrong way?”

“I’m not taking you to Storybrooke General. An optometrist arrived with this second curse, and I think I trust whoever it is with my daughter’s eyes more than I trust a possibly drunk Dr. Frankenstein.”

Emma chuckled at the wry sound of her father’s voice. “I bet mom wishes an obstetrician came with this curse too.”

“You have no idea.”

Her father slowed the truck and made a right turn. He assisted her out of the vehicle, and she slipped her arm through his as he guided her to the door of the clinic. She felt him freeze suddenly beside her once the door swung closed behind them.

“You!” he exclaimed in a suspicious voice. “I know you! What the hell is going on? I thought you were a baker!”

“No,” another voice calmly replied, “that’s my sister Felicity. I’m Avery, the receptionist for Dr. Liv Lachesis, the optometrist. Which I should also explain -”

“Welcome,” a third voice spoke up, “how can I help you today?”

“Triplets?!” David exclaimed.

One of the women - Emma couldn’t tell which one - chuckled lightly. “Yes, triplets. It always throws people.”

“Well,” her father sighed, “I have a twin, so I can relate. We’re here for a bit of an emergency, though. My daughter woke up this morning unable to see.”

“That is an emergency. Emma, why don’t you come with me?”

“How do you know my name?” Emma asked suspiciously as the doctor gently touched her elbow.

“Everyone knows the Savior.”

Dr. Lachesis’ words were gentle and soothing as she guided Emma into the exam room and helped her sit.

“Now just lean back Emma, and try to keep your eyes open. I’m going to put these drops in. It may sting a little, but it shouldn’t hurt. Okay?”

Emma nodded her head. Even though the optometrist had a soothing bedside manner, she still felt her stomach knotting with nerves. Dr. Lachesis gently held Emma’s right eye open, squirted two drops of liquid in, then repeated the procedure with her left eye. Emma blinked, hoping to see more clearly. She panicked when instead of blurry splotches of light and dark, before her eyes was nothing but inky darkness.

“It’s going to be okay,” the doctor soothed, as if reading her thoughts. “Lean forward and look into my phoropter.”

Emma had no idea what that was, but she leaned forward anyway. The doctor guided her face forward, and Emma felt cool metal pressed against the skin around her eyes.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

Emma heard a click while the doctor adjusted the machine’s settings.

“Look again.”

Dr. Lachesis’ voice was almost hypnotic, and Emma blinked once again. The black nothing before her faded, and she could once again see fuzzy splotches of color. The fuzzy splotches then cleared, and objects took shape before her. She was outside, dressed in a sweater, boots, and all the normal winter outerwear. Snow crunched beneath her feet and the air was crisp and cold against her cheeks. She blinked again, and tilting her head up saw that she was standing in front of a beautiful blue Victorian home with a welcoming porch, and a turret with windows nestled on one side. It reminded Emma of a doll house she had admired in a store window one Christmas as a child.

Emma then realized there were voices and laughter behind her, and she turned to see a man standing in front of the sliding door of a black minivan. He was bending over, buckling a toddler into a car seat. He straightened and turned towards her, and Emma froze in shock.

“Look, Graham, Mama’s got your shoes.”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, wondering even more what kind of crazy contraption a phoropter was to make her see what she was seeing right now, but when she opened her eyes the scene hadn’t changed. Captain Hook was buckling a toddler into a minivan. What the hell?

His eyes sparkled with mirth and he was smiling in a way she had yet to see. He gestured with his hook towards her.

“Swan? The shoes?”

She looked down to see that she did indeed have a tiny pair of brown boots dangling from the tips of her fingers. As bizarre as the whole scenario was, she shuffled forward and handed Hook the shoes. He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a beat before turning back to the child before him. He chatted amiably with the child, making him giggle as he slipped the shoes on his feet and tied them deftly with one hand. Emma stared at the little boy of about three, cataloguing his features. He had the same shade of eyes Emma had - a cool, pale green. He had a little dimple in his plump chin, much like her and Snow. His hair was thick and black, curling over ears that pointed in an almost elf-like way. Emma felt her jaw drop as she looked from the child to Killian and back again.

“Mama?” Emma startled when a little girl popped up from behind the little boy. “Mama did Daddy really almost burn down Granny’s when he got you a Christmas tree?”

The little girl looked so much like Emma, it was downright eerie. Except she had bright blue eyes. Eyes that looked really familiar . . . but it couldn’t be!

Killian chuckled as he scratched behind his ear. “Well, in my defense, I was new to the entire concept of electricity.”

Wait a second - did this girl just refer to them - she and Hook - as Mama and Daddy? Then Emma took in Killian for the first time. He was wearing dark skinny jeans and a motorcycle jacket instead of his pirate garb, yet that wasn’t what really surprised her. What surprised her was the charcoal wool beanie on his head. Captain Hook wearing a beanie? Surely this was some sort of hallucination. Emma then glanced down at herself.

“What the hell am I wearing?”

“Wowds, Mama!” the toddler - Graham? - laughed, kicking his little feet.

“Mama, you have to wear the tree shirt to go get the tree,” the little girl added. “It’s ta-dition.”

“That’s tradition, Hope, now buckle up so we can get going,” Killian instructed.

Suddenly, a golden blur rushed past Emma, and she let out a surprised shout as a golden retriever jumped into the van.

“Sorry,” Killian apologized, “the kids begged to bring Nana along. I didn’t think it was a problem since the tree farm is outside.” He paused and tilted his head as he studied her. “Are you okay, love? I can drive if you want. I know your morning sickness still bothers you some.”

Then the strangest thing of all occurred when Killian Jones - Captain Hook himself, put a hand to her belly then brushed a kiss to her lips. It was the kind of quick, familiar kiss a couple shares when they’ve been together a long time. Emma looked down where his hand rested, and sure enough, her belly was swollen beneath her sweater. Her hideous red sweater covered in a garish Christmas tree with pom pom balls for ornaments. She swayed on her feet.

“Emma!” Killian cried in alarm, his arms going tighter around her.

Everything went blurry, again, then dark. Emma blinked her eyes, and suddenly she was back in the optometrist office looking through a metal contraption that must have been the phoropter. She jerked away and leapt up, her gaze darting wildly about the room. Well, at least she could fully see again.

“What kind of crap was that?” she yelled at Dr. Lachesis. “What kind of spell did you put on me?”

“It was my sister who cast the spell. I merely completed it.

“Completion is my area of expertise, sis,” Avery spoke up from the doorway.

“Okay,” the doctor sighed with a roll of her eyes, “I showed you the middle. It’s what you wished for, after all.”

“Emma,” David cried out as he pushed his way into the room, “are you okay? What did they do?”

Emma shook her head, unsure of how to even describe what had happened. Not to mention her father’s reaction if she told him she’d just seen herself knocked up with her third child with Hook of all people.

“Nothing, Dad,” she muttered, “let’s just get out of here.”

After all, it wasn’t as if anything in that vision could ever in a million years be real. It was ridiculous. Captain Hook the father of three driving a minivan? Impossible.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #christmas fluff #a captain swan hallmark christmas movie #for snowbellewells

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captain-emmajones · 4 years ago

Text

Love, Emma (1/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem <3)

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014).

Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They've always been -- until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn't know what. Until she does. He's fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they're kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Killian and Emma will dance around each other, until their heads spin and their legs hurt, and everything becomes blurry and it has to stop – for both of their sake.

Title and lyrics are from Taylor Swift’s Mirrorball -- which clearly inspired the mood of this chapter. Had it on loop while writing, so if you feel like it, do try to listen to it while reading!

A huge thank you to @profdanglaisstuff who beta’d this and gave me her precious thoughts <3

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 6000 words - ao3

Part 2 - AUGUST , Part 3 - HOAX, Part 4 - PEACE, Part 5 - THIS IS ME TRYING, Part 6 - CARDIGAN , Part 7 - INVISIBLE STRING

PART 1 - MIRRORBALL.

Emma clutches Ingrid’s yellow irises against her chest – almost too strongly, she might be bruising the inside of her fingers.

As she stares at the Arrival Board in front of her, she couldn’t care less for her own skin. The beat of her heart is drumming in her ears, and she is pretty certain oxygen is having a very hard time reaching her lungs.

Her right eyelid twitches. She wasn’t able to get any sleep last night, inhabited by a very childlike enthusiasm at the thought of seeing her friend again.

A breath of relief escapes Emma’s throat as the light next to Portsmouth changes color.

“He has landed,” she whispers to herself, flowers still pressed to her chest.

She is too engulfed in her surroundings to notice she’s damaging the flowers. Ingrid is definitely going to kill her for butchering her favorite bush. She doesn’t care.

He should be here any time now. Her heart skips another beat and really, it’ll be a miracle if she is still standing on her feet by the time he reaches her.

Gazing all around her, she suddenly notices the large window in front of her that gives away a blurry reflection of her body. Emma frowns. One hand reluctantly gives up on the flowers to comb her hair.

You’re combing your hair for Killian, of all people, snorts her inner voice. But Emma is too happy to pay attention to her pride.

He’s been gone for nine months now, since last September. Has been going all around the world with the Navy, and she is proud of him. He did the right thing. (Even it meant leaving her behind.)

Emma has never known what it feels like to miss someone before she missed him. Being brought up as a foster kid, she hasn’t had anyone to miss for the longest time.

She’s bouncing up and down on her feet by now, anxiety shaking her legs.

Ingrid welcomed her in Storybrooke on her twelfth birthday. It was the best thing that ever happened to her. It allowed her to meet the brothers Jones – their orphan neighbors. Liam became Killian’s legal guardian when their father died.

The crowd of people around her brings Emma back to the present. More people gather together, and Emma understands they are all just as eager to see their loved ones as she is.

She cannot wait anymore. Her palm hurt around the cut flowers. Another few minutes go by, and time is painfully slow. She clenches her jaw. Unclenches it. Takes a look at the clock in front of her. Come on, relax, Emma.

And then, there he is.

“Killian!” The excited scream escapes her throat without her consent, a brutal wave of bliss sweeping her off her feet. She doesn’t hold it back.

He hasn’t changed one bit, or he isn’t the same at all. She doesn’t care. She only cares for the sweet hue of blue that meets her eyes and smiles in recognition.

“Emma!” He mirrors her happy scream.

Her heart beams as they run towards each other, and she throws herself intohis arms as soon as she reaches him. (By then, the flowers are to be respectfully buried and missed.)

She wraps her arms around his neck, and her senses are filled by him – his smell, a strong cologne she isn’t familiar with, his skin under her fingers, his tousled black hair that is suddenly very kept, the beginning of a scruff against her cheeks, the strength of his arms around her chest, and when did he get this tall?

“I missed you,” she exhales against his cheek, and holds him tighter. She is very unwilling to let him go now that she has him.

She hears a chuckle against her ear, and it is the most wonderful sound she has heard in those last pitiful nine months.

“I missed you, too, Swan.”

A tear rolls down her cheek at the nickname – it’s been so long and her world has been so bleak without him and she’s never known this kind of homesickness – and she realizes just how wet her eyes have become. She’s never cried from happiness before, but tears are rushing down her cheeks without her consent.

His grip becomes tighter around her waist, and then he slowly lets go. She does not expect him to let go first. She profoundly inhales to chase down a feeling of fear deep within her throat and backs away, her hands still around his neck.

Staring at him after all this time seems to stir something really odd within herself and her breath gets caught in her chest. She didn’t remember him this handsome. Did his nose always look this elegant, and have his lips always been this bright pink, and why are his eyes the color of the sea?

And then she remembers the flowers crushed between her clumsy hands.

One finger tracing the scar on his cheek, she shoves the bouquet against his chest. “That’s for you,” she smiles and her fingers cannot seem to let go of his face.

“Swan,” his eyes are so kind over her gift, she can tell he is really happy about them, although their lives were cut short in their prime, “thank you so much. They are my fav—”

“—favorite, I know! That’s why I got them for you.” And she smiles, harder, her cheeks hurt but she cannot bring herself to stop.

She ignores as well as she can the alarm ringing in her head. Why is he not touching her? What’s wrong? Did she get ugly while he was away? He was always touching her, before.

“Aye,” he grins, and then relief – his palm is over her cheeks and something incredibly tender and innocent blooms in her chest. She sighs, leans in his touch. She’s missed him so much. “Shall we go, Swan?”

She picks up the bag he let go of to hold her while he very gracefully carries the flowers. Surely he wouldn’t have damaged them. Killian is very careful not to damage anything ever.

“Sure thing. Welcome home, Killian,” and before her arm finds his, she’s bold enough to press her lips against his scruffy cheek.

She lingers there longer than intended, longer than what is reasonable and appropriate.

The glint she catches in his eyes when she backs away triggers something painful in her. She swallows it down. (Why did he look embarrassed? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. They are friends.)

But then, they are walking down the airport like old times, and surely she must be thinking too much – as per usual.

She is so glad to have him back, she ignores very meticulously all of the signs telling her Killian might not be as happy to be back. (To be with her.)

She’s holding a watering can while he delicately drops flowers – pink roses – on Liam’s tombstone. She watches him frown, fingers caressing the marble with care and something else – anger.

She swallows. This wound is still very fresh. It’s been a year.

She pours some water on the plant she brought last month – a gorgeous, bright pink bush of flowers, and she quickly puts it down on the grass to hold his hand.

His eyes flash in surprise and she offers him a smile – why is he surprised? Emma never liked to be touched before, before he touched her. She chases down the feeling once again and holds his fingers tighter in her hands. I am not letting you go.

The sun is shining. It’s such a bright summer day. The air is not too warm, just warm enough to feel comfortable wearing a t-shirt, and a gentle breeze that carries summer smells brushes their cheeks.

It was also a wonderful summer day – the day Liam died. Her brows furrow. Last summer had been the best weather they had had in Maine for years.

“He would be proud of you,” she whispers, desperate to make him feel better.

She is aware there is not much she can do to help him fight this darkness that swallowed him alive. She is still willing to try.

“Would he?” He echoes back, and she does not recognize the bitterness she hears in his voice.

For the first time since she has known Killian Jones, Emma feels like she’s missing something. A piece of the puzzle to understand him. She feels like perhaps she does not know him as well as she thinks.

She would have taken a step back with anyone else. But with him, she playfully bumps her shoulder against his, fighting back her inner instincts. He got tall, and bulkier – only in a good way.

“Of course. You joined the Navy to make him proud, didn’t you?”

For the first time in ages, she really is asking him a question.

He’s been back for a month now, and his scruff is prominent over his face. She likes it. He looks manly. She thinks he knows he looks manlier.

She still looks like a teenage girl, with her long blonde hair and her freckles and her frail body, and she still wears sneakers with her dresses (when she wears them). And he looks so much older.

“Aye, I guess so. Thank you, Swan,” he smiles at her, his hand brushing her cheek, but somehow he is miles away.

She presses her lips against each other, firmly. There are pebbles in her belly. He put them there.

“Anytime, Killian,” she smiles, and in a desperate attempt to bring him back to her, she presses another kiss to his cheek.

He steps away quicker than she expects him. A cold breath reaches her lips in spite of the agreeable weather.

Another smile. She’s suffocating.

“Okay, so then after dinner we could finally go to a club!” She’s standing in the middle of her room, arms swung up towards the ceiling of her childhood bedroom.

Killian is chewing on a strawberry bubblegum, lying on her bed. He hasn’t let go of his phone all afternoon.

“As you wish, Swan. It’s your birthday, after all.”

Can’t he look a bit more involved? A very childish anger burns her tongue as her hands find her hips in disapproval.

“Exactly! Which is why I’m going to ask you to look a little bit more enthusiastic, Killian Jones.”

She doesn’t mean to sound this harsh but she does anyway. At least, that gets him to look up from his phone, and she sees a glint of regret pass in his eyes. A smile finally cracks his face.

“You’re right, Swan. Forgive me. I’m just a bit concerned by something but don’t worry, I’m all ears now.”

She hates herself for how quickly she kneels in front of him, on her pink carpeted floor that she hates but Ingrid tried her best to make her feel at home.

Even more for the way she grabs his hands, pouring her soul into his eyes.

“I can tell you’re not really here, Killian.” She pauses, watches as he raises one eyebrow – it isn’t what she expected but it isn’t mean either, “And I want you to know there’s nothing you cannot tell me.”

She’s so naïve. She means every word.

He nods. Her eyes look down at his lips. She wants to kiss him. But she cannot – not when he’s still miles away from her, still stuck in Portsmouth.

“I know that, love,” something blooms in her chest. He hasn’t called her love in a year now, “Don’t worry, I’m quite alright.”

He lies. It’s the first time he’s lied to her about something important since she’s known him.

Fear captures her heart. It’s green, and viscous, and it drips on everything she holds dear.

He’s slipping between her fingers. She’s losing him. She cannot lose him.

She’s the one lying on his bed while he takes a shower when she sees her message. She doesn’t mean to, really. But his phone vibrates on his bedside table, and she only glances at it out of curiosity.

She sees it. M. Who is M?

She rolls on her belly, glances at the closed door of his bathroom, and reads the message, heart drumming in her ears.

“I know, baby. Rumple is driving me crazy too. But it will all be worth it, soon. I promise. Just hold on to our love.”

Something rings in her ears, it’s painful, it spreads from her liver and all the way up to her mouth, and she cannot see anymore, and her birthday is tomorrow and he is in love with someone else.

It takes her a lot of strength then, to roll back on her back, to try and make herself comfortable again between his pillows and his smell – in spite of the rigidity in her bones and this feeling of utter disgust in her mouth. She holds on to the silver bracelet around her wrist - the one Killian offered Emma for her eighteenth birthday, last year.

So many questions bounce in her mind, but one fact absolutely obliterates her. He doesn’t want to confide in her anymore. He is clearly struggling with this Rumple, and this M, and he doesn’t want her help.

The bathroom door swings open and steam invades his bedroom as he steps out, wet hair and big grin. She knows the grin will remain but will become a mere theatrical performance once he reads the message. She doesn’t want him to read it. She wants to keep him to herself.

“Ready for that ice-cream, Swan?” he attacks right away, all charms out. When did he get this charming? When did he become aware of his charms?

“Always ready for some rocky road,” she answers back, and she’s surprised to hear her own voice calm and collected.

Perhaps she is growing up, too. She used to be a terrible liar. But that’s what they do, now, apparently.

His smell fills her lungs, and it’s the one of her childhood – peppermint, and something muskier, and him.

“Emma, you won’t forget to take care of the garden –” exclaims Ingrid as they’re about to leave her ice-cream shop.

She squints her eyes. Fuck. Exactly what she wanted to avoid.

“Sure thing, Ingrid,” she mumbles, before taking Killian’s arm in her hers and guiding them both out of her shop.

Emma swallows a scream of injustice. That’s her punishment for stealing the flowers for Killian.

“Flowers are not meant to be picked. They’re meant to be cared for, admired, but not picked, Emma.”

Emma didn’t tell her what’s the use of having flowers if you cannot offer them to someone you love but she did stare at her with a lot of defiance.

Rocky Road has never tasted this wrong in her mouth, as they sit outside of Granny’s, on the warm concrete. It’s burning her naked thighs, but it still doesn’t suck as much as the way Killian stares at his phone – just like she expected him to. He’s waiting for M to answer him.

Emma wants to tell him he can confide in her but clearly he doesn’t want to. And it’s one of the strongest pain she’s ever felt – it’s a wicked, wicked pain that spreads from her heart to her pride and slays every inch of her good feelings.

She keeps licking her ice-cream, eyes locked to the road.

Her birthday is tomorrow. On the twenty-first, the first day of summer. She waits for summer all year, waits for the special moments she knows she’ll spend with Killian.

Only, this year, Killian doesn’t seem as happy to spend them with her.

Thankfully, Ingrid’s Rocky Road is still the best thing in town.

As she gets ready for her birthday party, Emma figures out she has nothing to lose. She decides to play all of her cards.

She’s staring at herself in the mirror while pop music plays in the background.

She hates her round cheeks and her slender body that refuses to give her the big chest boys seem to be so fond of. She’s frowning as she examines her features meticulously.

She usually doesn’t wear makeup, if not for a bit of mascara. It’s the only thing she’s comfortable with wearing on her face. As for her clothes, Emma is a jeans and sneakers kind of gal. Her only accessory is Killian's bracelet - and it doesn't count, because by now it is part of her.

She didn’t use to mind. It’s who she is. But since she’s seen M’s contact photo – she really didn’t mean to intrude, it just appeared when she tried to call him – Emma has become more self-conscious. (Terribly so).

M has long back curls and red lips, and she’s a woman. Not a girl like her. Her eyes are blue but they’re not timid, they shine sure and knowing and her smile is confident.

Emma hates her freckles. She looks like she’s twelve.

Tentatively, she brushes her blond eyebrows – just like she’s seen Ingrid do. It doesn’t make much of a difference and she muffles a dramatic sigh, frowning.

Killian will never find her pretty ever again.

That night, she also tip toes to Ingrid’s room to borrow some lady-like perfume. Emma only likes to use a very natural ginger fragrance – her smell but a bit better.

She winces. She hates the too-sweet, too-flowery smell that wraps itself around her body. Whatever. Killian must like that.

She’s nineteen tonight. The only teen year left of her life. She better make the most of it. (If Killian does not tell her about his mysterious girlfriend who’s far too beautiful for her to compete with, then she can’t really be doing something wrong, can she?)

She eyes the different dresses spread on the pink blanket of her bed. (Ingrid is very committed to pink.)

At her feet, the only pair of heels she could find in her wardrobe. They are small, black squared heels but really they’ll do the trick. They will have to at least.

Hands on her hips, she settles for the pink, light dress. It’s not her favorite color, but the fabric is very soft and fits her small waist like a glove. The lower part of the dress is flowy and ends well above her knees. Emma knows her legs are long and toned and she wants to show them off tonight.

To finish the look, she ties her hair in a high ponytail to get her hair off her face. Ingrid has always told her to.

As she eyes herself in her mirror, she thinks she looks pretty. She smiles at her reflection, her earrings glinting.

She glances at the big clock on her wall. 8:15. Killian should be here anytime, now.

Her heart beats faster, thinking of him.

She smiles, grabs her bag and goes down the stairs of Ingrid’s house. It already smells like dinner time, and it should comfort her, but it does not. She catches Ingrid’s surprised eyes in the kitchen.

“What do you think?” Emma asks, and it’s the first time she asks for Ingrid’s opinion on her appearance, but well –

Ingrid lets go of the tomato she is expertly cutting to stare at her. Her mouth slightly opens. And Emma swears she sees something very gentle sparkle in her green eyes.

“I think you look beautiful, Emma.” Ingrid’s smile is very tender over her figure, and something weird clenches Emma’s heart.

She simply smiles back. “Thanks, Ingrid. Don’t wait for me tonight, Killian and I are going to party!”

She almost runs to the door when she hears him knock. She tries to remain as composed and adult as possible, and instead calmly walk there. (Her feet are already killing her and her legs are stiff. This is going to be hell.)

She opens the door to discover him in a white shirt and black suit, and with a bouquet of yellow irises.

“Those ones I did not steal from Ingrid,” he smiles, his eyes glinting over her figure, and she could swear he likes what he sees, and her toes curl in her shoes and a very sweet heat invades her face, “Happy birthday, Emma,” he grins, and then she cannot hold herself back and wraps her arms around his neck.

She loves how her feet leave the floor for just a moment, as he spins her around, and she feels like they’re immortal.

“Thank you, Killian”, she murmurs against his cheek, presses a long kiss there, and intertwines their fingers together.

She thinks her crush is showing but really, as he glances at her body in her dress and climbs back to her face – a really lovely pink hue over his cheeks, and perhaps is pink not such a bad color – she doesn’t care.

She’s quick to put down the flowers on Ingrid’s kitchen counter, “Please take care of them!”, before disappearing in the night with her friend.

They pay all due respect to their Birthday tradition and go eat a grilled cheese at Granny’s. Granny’s give them a knowing look as they sit on the terrace outside. The old woman eyes Killian’s hand on the small of Emma’s back just as Emma feels it sending sparks up her spine.

They look like a couple, she’s sure of it, and the thought makes her feel giddy.

As they sit outside, by the lanterns and the Storybrooke sign, it feels like Killian never left.

“Remember when you were thirteen and I had to get you out of a bloody bin, Emma, just because you didn’t want to face Ingrid—”

“Hey!” Her scream isn’t really one and she’s waving an onion ring at him, “It’s my birthday, be nice to me.” And she rolls her eyes and he waggles his brows, and everything is right in the world.

His phone is still on the table, but face down. He is all eyes on her and she is very much pleased. (Even when it rings, once, twice, until Killian turns it off and she sighs in relief.)

“You’re very beautiful tonight, Swan,” he tells her as she finishes her grilled cheese.

And she hates him for saying so when her hands are wrapped around the greasy sandwich, and there’s probably cheese in the corners of her mouth, and strings of hair have fallen in front of her eyes – but she smiles.

“Thank you,” something warm and sunny blooms in her chest, “you’re not too bad yourself.”

She sees his eyes go wider, and she realizes he mustn’t have expected to say something back.

She keeps smiling. She feels an unfamiliar confidence take hold of her, straighten her spine and push her to grab his hand, on the table.

He glances at their knuckles but he doesn’t back away, and that must be good.

Finally, he waggles his brows and lets a small chuckle escape his lips. “Eat up, Swan. Before your favorite meal gets cold.”

She thinks then that she’s been touching him with her greasy fingers, and clearly that’s a mistake M wouldn’t have made, but… but he didn’t seem to mind. And his cheeks are red again. And that must be good, right?

They walk down to the only club in town – one down the beach. Storybrooke is a small town, but their fake IDs should be enough to get in.

Her feet are quite literally killing her, so when Killian offers that they walk in the sand instead, she happily complies. (She thinks he saw her suffering.)

It’s a full moon above them, and its reflection on the tender waves that come crashing at their feet is breathtaking. He is walking slightly ahead of her, but just now she doesn’t mind.

A sea breeze tangles her hair. She is happy.

“Hey, Swan,” he finally turns around to face her, and he is very handsome, and she realizes he has been carrying a plastic bottle in his bag. “Want some?” he asks her in a cheeky tone.

Her heart skips a beat in her chest. It’s not the first time Killian and she have gotten drunk together – and usually it ends with both of them asleep in one of their beds and a terrible headache the next morning.

(Killian’s always been her only true friend. Sure, she’s sympathized with Mary Margaret and Ruby at school – but they don’t get her like he does.)

“Hell yes,” she exclaims and stretches her hand to grab the bottle. “Cheaper to get drunk now than in the club.”

“Aye, that’s the spirit, Swan.”

She guesses he must have gotten drunk several times, this past year, without her. She figures he is grown up in all of the possible meanings of the word. It scares her, to think he’s going on without her. That’s he is already ahead of her, and she cannot quite catch up. She probably never will.

The bottle’s neck meets her lips, and it’s a pretty well done mix of vodka and fruit juice that she tastes against her tongue, and she wishes she were kissing him instead.

She takes several big gups, wincing as alcohol burns her throat and abandons a pleasing warmth in her chest.

“Careful, Swan. This isn’t only fruit juice.” She wipes her mouth as she hands him the bottle over.

“Oh come on, Killian. It’s my birthday, let me have some fun.”

She hates the concern she hears in his voice. He isn’t her big brother. She can take care of herself.

She watches as he drinks at his turn, watches as his Adam’s apple goes up and down. They used to be so similar, both of them all slender bodies, and now he is a man, and his shoulders are wide and his back strong, and she isn’t quite sure she is a woman yet.

She waits for him to put back the bottle in his bag and grabs his hand.

“Come on, let’s have some fun!”

And then she’s twirling around him, laughing brightly, and only stops when her body reminds her she just drank vodka and this will end badly if she keeps pushing her limits. Out of breath, she wraps her arms around his neck to settle herself, and his arms come to meet her waist.

The sea still whimpers behind them, but she only sees the soft waves in his eyes and the soft smile he dedicates to her.

There is a sparkle, in his gaze, a question at the tip of his tongue – but he will not ask it.

She wants him to.

Her fingers trace the shape of his jaw as she swallows, a small smile on her face.

“Dizzy, are we, Swan?” he asks her, and she realizes just how close their faces have gotten as his breath caresses her face.

She shakes her head. “Not dizzy at all. Happy.” She calmly exhales, licks her lips.

He will not kiss her. She wants him to. But he won’t. Because of her, she’s sure now. But, the night isn’t over.

He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and steps back to let go. She misses the heat of his body immediately, can’t fight back the frown that takes over her features.

“I’m glad, Swan.” Why does he sound so mature? She hates it.

A childish anger shakes her heart and she feels cold. He left childhood behind and he didn’t bother to tell her he was leaving. He didn’t bother. And now she’s stuck in this weird limbo, not a child anymore but not an adult either, not really, not like M, and he isn’t with her anymore.

She shakes her head to chase her thoughts away.

“Right, let’s get in.”

It’s still pretty early, and there aren’t a lot of people queuing in front of The Forbidden Fruit (the name never fails to make her cringe). This allows Killian and Emma to display their fake ID’s quite quickly.

Killian plays the part awfully well, although they’ve downed the entire bottle of vodka before stepping in. Emma is very focused on not looking completely hammered, as Killian would put it. Girls get in easier, it’s a known fact.

The bouncer clearly knows they are underage but the forgeries are good. Killian got them done during his Navy year. And he is savagely challenging the tall, sturdy guy to prove those are fakes, one eyebrow raised.

How can he look this sober? It’s unfair.

“Fine, get in, kids,” mumbles the bouncer, and Emma is sober enough to muffle a scream of joy inside her palm.

Killian takes her hand in his as they enter the club. They let go of their bags in one corner – I’m not about to pay two dollars to have my stuff kept by people I don’t bloody know.

When they turn towards the dance floor, neon lights seize their eyes as pop music shakes the walls.

Killian turns to face her, smiling brightly. “Ready to party, Swan?”

She nods vigorously, her heart beaming. “Hell yes!”

He takes her hand again and it’s so easy to forget everything as they make their way between the swarm of young adults dancing. They swirl together, spin, fly some more. They are both soon panting and sweating but it does not keep them from continuing to jump around.

Emma thinks this is it, the great, terrible happiness she’s heard about her entire life. It must be this beat in her heart, this strong pulse of life inside of her, as Killian holds her hands and swings with her.

They dance for what seems to be only a few minutes – except almost an hour goes by – and Killian glances urgently at the watch on his wrist before pulling her towards him.

“Let’s go on the rooftop before midnight,” he yells into her ear, and it sounds like he’s whispering.

She nods again, smiling brightly, and presses a napkin against her forehead. She tries to catch her breath, stuck in some liminal space, but Killian is still very energetic and drags her along with him towards the stairs.

She finds her legs trembling under her weight and to be quite honest, the room might only be spinning in her head. He must feel her struggle because he turns to face her on reaching the stairs, and his hold is very firm on her hand as he secures his grip around her waist. She thinks she smiles then, and they climb up together.

“Since when do you hold your alcohol so well?” she asks, boldly, and it really isn’t the kind of question she would have asked had she been sober.

Purely because it echoes the year they spent apart. And they haven’t talked about it, at all. And she’d be damned before she opened up to him when he hasn’t opened up to her.

“Well, you’ve got to, in the Navy, love.” It’s the second time he’s called her love since he’s been back. Her heart smiles.

The vibrant sea breeze that welcomes them outside nearly swipes Emma off her feet. Or perhaps it is the vodka. Either way, it’s a plausible excuse to grab him again.

From the corner of her blurry vision, she sees Killian set a timer to midnight on his phone. It’s funny, how the music from the club sounds like a very muffled sound and the only thing she hears now is her own heartbeat.

She’s still out of breath. She inhales deeply, and then bows down to him. “May I have this dance?” she asks him, eyes shining with mischief.

He chuckles, and it’s a wonderful sound. “Anything for you, Swan.”

There must be some synchronicity in the universe because then a much gentler song resonates, and it sounds like her teenage years and she cannot believe childhood is already over.

They swirl together, his warm palm in hers, and her arm is wrapped around his neck, and he still smells good after all their dancing and it’s unfair. She hopes she doesn’t stink.

Another swirl, another turn, and she’s back in his arms again, and nothing ever felt this right. She thinks he must feel it, how well their bodies fit together, how easy it is to be together.

Before she knows it, she’s staring at his lips and she thinks he’s staring at hers too, and no air suddenly reaches her lungs and the timer rings painfully.

A smile spreads across his face. “Happy birthday, Emma.” He murmurs, says it with a lot of caution and care and affection and that other word she’s scared of.

She grins, brightly, vividly.

And then, she stands up on her tip-toes, and before they are both aware of it, she kisses him. Melts into his mouth, muffles a whisper of contentment against his lips, eyes firmly closed, just in case he pushes her away.

He doesn’t.

He kisses her back, his arms wrapping tightly around her, and she swears in that moment something explodes inside of her. She never believed in butterflies. She does now. A swarm has invaded her belly.

Her hands are in his hair, while his roam back and forth between her waist and her shoulder blades, and she cannot help but notice how expert his movements are against her body when she is still shaking with emotions.

And then he pulls back, and he’s all disheveled hair and rosy cheeks, and then, and then – she falls.

To the ground.

A ray of sunshine falls on her closed eyelids. When she wakes up, her hand is spread over her face and her mouth wide open. She groans, whimpers, groans some more and finally opens very hesitant eyes.

What the hell.

A terrible headache says hello to her. It isn’t fair.

The first thing she notices is Killian’s hand around her waist. In spite of the pain, that does make her smile. The next is that she isn’t home but in Killian’s childhood home (the one Liam and he inherited when they lost their father).

She slowly, very carefully, turns her face towards the nightstand. Of course. He left paracetamol and water there and a small note: “For my dearest idiot. Love, Killian”. It is set next to a picture of her and Killian, from middle school. She leans forward, tries her best not to wake him up in the process, and grabs the bottle. She drinks avidly, trying to hydrate the desert that is now her body.

A small chuckle echoes behind her. “You alright, Swan?” mumbles a voice, still very full of sleep.

She turns to face him, an apologetic smile on her lips. “Except for a ferocious headache, pretty good, yeah.”

He’s smiling at her, eyes still puffy and there is a very clear pillow mark in the middle of his forehead that makes him look like a wizard, and she swears he’s never smiled at her this way before.

And then shame circles her throat as memories come back to her mind.

She really made a show of herself last night, didn’t she? She hopes he doesn’t hate her.

She hands him the water bottle, and straightens her back in the bed to get some composure.

“Hey Killian?”

“Mmm?”

“Let’s forget all about last night, ‘kay? I was drunk and I’m sure I was awful...”

She hears him gulp loudly beside her. Her eyes twitch. Oh, it must be worse than she thought. Guilt swallows her. What has she done?

“All… all about it?” he repeats, and she swears his cheeks have become redder.

Her hands come to the blanket over her body, hold it tighter against her to protect her.

“Yeah, everything. I mean, it would have never happened if we hadn’t downed that damn vodka just the two of us.”

She tries to shrug it off, rolls her eyes really hard to seal the deal, but really, she is so ashamed.

He swallows beside her, frowns. “Alright Swan, if that is your wish, then I—”

“—Oh yeah,” she cuts him, and she’s throwing her legs out of the bed, “—I’m really sorry Killian, it won’t happen again.”

As he stares at her with what she thinks is some sort of judgement, the thought that she might be forgetting something does slip her mind.

But only for a few seconds, and then it’s gone forever.

#cs ff #cs fanfics #captain swan #friends to lovers #mutual pining #love rosie au #so there it is #i hope you guys will like this #please leave me your thoughts!!#my stuff

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artistic-writer · 5 years ago

Text

The Contract :: CS Omegaverse :: Ch 6

Title: The Contract Rating: E Summary: Emma had never wanted much in her life, despite being married to one of the richest men in the world. For ten years she has felt like a prisoner in her own marriage, denied the one thing she wants the most, but her husband cannot help but bargain her want like a cheap business deal. Enter Killian Jones, the Alpha her husband has hired to make sure she gets what she wants. And then some.

A/N: I know I only posted a snippet yesterday, but i wasn’t expected to be done so soon! Yay! Also, I think writing Liam, Killian and Will slightly drunk is my new favourite thing. This chapter takes off where #5 left off, so enjoy ;) Thanks to @hollyethecurious who was my beta for this little adventure. I would also like to give a MASSIVE thank you to @itsfabianadocarmo for her beautiful artwork that she so graciously allowed me to use from now on! <3

ALSO A MASSIVE HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @shardminds (for tomorrow) - IT’S EARLY BUT ITS HERE!

This is an Omegaverse fic featuring A/B/O dynamics. Whilst this varies from fandom to fandom, for the purposes of my fic, there will be no mpreg. Just so you know. There will however be knotting, breeding, heats and other delicious things that come along with A/B/O. If you do not know what A/B/O is, feel free to message me :) Many thanks to @hollyethecurious @shardminds @kmomof4 @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke and @effulgentcolors for letting me bounce my complicated ideas of you lol

If you wish to stay away from this fic, blacklist the A/B/O tag.

Taglist: I’ll be honest, i have lost my taglist for this fic, so if you want a tag, please message me here on on discord (Salem #5158/ [email protected]) and I’ll add you! I’ve tagged the following people i KNOW want to read this, but i don’t want to accidentally tag you if you do not like ABO.

@hollyethecurious @shardminds @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @thisonesatellite @xemmaloveskillianx @hookedonapirate @teamhook @winterbaby89 @carpedzem @courtorderedcake @profdanglaisstuff @itsfabianadocarmo @donteattheappleshook @ultraluckycatnd

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The ferocity of his kiss made Emma swoon, her heart fluttering just under her skin. She had never felt such a yearning, such a need, and as soon as his knot had receded and they had left the car, Killian had cemented her animalistic want even more when he had hoisted her up onto his shoulder and carried her to her apartment. It thrilled her to no end, being carried, overpowered and yet cared for at the same time. Killian, growling deep in his throat as he crossed the threshold, slammed the door behind him and set her feet firmly back on the ground.

“How long is your refractory period?” Emma smirked salaciously, her fingers caressing the lapels of Killian’s blazer. He gave her a raised eyebrow as she arched into him, her fingers gripping the soft, cotton material and giving it a tug as she spun them around.

“Such a needy girl,” Killian growled, walking towards her and pinning her to the cold surface of the door. The sizzle of her skin was almost audible and her sharp intake of breath made his cock hard.

“I can’t get enough of you,” Emma whispered, pulling even harder on his jacket until Killian’s forehead touched hers. Their lips were so close, the breath between them all that separated her from the feel of his mouth on hers. “I want you all the time, Killian.”

“You shouldn’t,” Killian ground out, his entire body screaming at him to kiss her. His tongue darted out and he tasted her lips, the sweet taste of her ever present in his memory intensified in that moment.

“Why?” Emma breathed, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

The way she was acting was unlike any of their previous encounters and it was awakening something very primal inside of him, his hands skimming down the sides of her face and down the column of her neck. Killian paused, his thumb resting over the pulse there, the elevated rhythm of Emma’s heartbeat quickening even more when he stroked the skin where her Omega scent gland would be were she anything but Beta. A heady mixture of arousal and confusion coursed through him, his throat closing up around a lump there and the strain of his erection a painful reminder of what he could never truly have.

Emma was married. The fact that her husband was an arsehole was irrelevant, and the fact that Killian wanted to wring the Beta bastard’s neck was even more of a moot point. It didn’t matter to him what gender class she belonged to because at the end of the day she would never be attainable. He had let things go too far, let his feelings for her develop into something far greater than even he could control and if a day with Emma had shown him anything, it was that he wasn’t ready to let her go.

But his feelings could wait. Right now, the only thing more important to him than his own arousal, was Emma’s. She was especially wanton today and it hadn’t escaped his notice. First the lingerie, of which he had just reminded himself, then the panties, oh god, the panties, and then the very idea of a blow job which had the blood rushing to his cock from the memory alone, and, to be fair, what sort of Alpha would he be if he didn’t indulge Emma’s deepest, most baser urges?

He surged forward and pinned her to the door with his weight, making sure she could feel the length of his hardness pressed against her. Emma let out a gasp of surprise and her scent immediately changed, her sweet, subtle hint of what Killian had once known making way for a strong, spicier taste that had his blood boiling in his veins. It was familiar but overpowering, the low rumble of a growl crawling up from his belly as he raised her arms and she let him, rubbing herself against his length and biting her bottom lip.

“You want me too,” Emma surmised with a hint of glee, writhing her body against his even more. “Tell me you don’t.”

“That’s not fair,” Killian said gruffly. He pressed into her harder, resting his head on her collarbone and tasting her intoxicating skin with a quick peck of his lips. “You smell different, love,” he rasped. “I can’t think straight.”

“So don’t think at all,” Emma whispered, slipping her hands from his grasp and pushing the blazer off his shoulders. The muscles along Killian’s jaw tightened and the green of Emma’s eyes darkened with her lust at the sight. The cotton jacket fell to the floor and Killian kicked it away, closely followed by his shoes, his toes scrunching inside his socks in an attempt to ground himself.

“Emma, I-,” Killian began again, his vision blurry from whatever Emma had bewitched him with, her fingers tracing the v-neck of his t-shirt that had suddenly become clammy and clung to his body. He swallowed thickly, blinking to refocus the blood flow from his cock to his brain, a futile attempt if ever he’d known one.

“Don’t. Think.” Emma pressed her finger to his lips, halting any further interruptions from the Alpha before her. “Just, fuck me,” Emma purred, holding his eye contact when his stare bore into her. His eyes were the darkest Emma had ever seen and her skin flushed hot with the idea of what he could do to her. She knew, after all, exactly what Killian Jones was capable of. “Fuck me, and knot me like you promised in the restaurant.”

“Oh, my sweet,” Killian smirked, dragging his fingers down the length of her arms, lightly gripping her wrists. He held her gaze, unashamedly moving her hands to his chinos, encouraging her to unbutton them with a reassuring nod. “I’m going to fuck you, and will knot you, but be warned,” he paused, allowing her to lift the weight of him out of his underwear after she had pushed his chinos to the ground. As soon as she was done, he slapped his hands to her arse and hoisted her into the air, ignoring her squeak of joy as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and let her sag into his hold. “This is going to ruin you.”

“Too late,” Emma rasped, clutching his face and finally planting her lips firmly on his.

If he hadn’t had the strength of an Alpha, Emma might have knocked them both to the ground with the force of her kiss. Killian wrapped his arms around her, tightening his hold on her body as he stepped from his chinos and flicked his foot, tossing them aside on his way further into the apartment. Her lips were sweet, like a drug he couldn’t get enough of and he’d be damned if he wanted to let up kissing her back for even a second.

“What about the lingerie?” Emma pulled her lips from his in a daze, her fingers interlocked behind his head and his neck muscles there straining against the edges of her palm.

“Nope.” Killian shook his head and Emma frowned at him. He set her down, much to her protest, but soon his intentions became clear when he reached behind her and unzipped her dress.

“No?” Emma asked salaciously, letting the material of her dress flutter to the floor once Killian had slipped it off her shoulders. It left her naked, gloriously bare and exposed to his hungry gaze, and Killian licked his lips with delight.

He shook his head again, crossed his arms over his body and Emma felt a surge of wetness between her legs when he lifted the last remaining remnant of clothing up and over his head and his arm muscles rippled deliciously under his skin. “Anything that blocks my view of your absolutely perfect body is not welcome here.”

Emma blushed and without even realising it, her hand had found his bicep where her fingers gripped the muscle in anticipation. “You said you liked it in the store.”

Killiam grinned darkly, stepping into her space and forcing her to retreat backwards until her thighs touched the huge bed behind them. “You weren’t naked in the store.”

Emma let out the longest breath as she fell backward and bounced on the mattress, turning herself onto her stomach whilst airbourne. She tried to crawl away with a giggle, Killian hot on her heels as he clambered onto the bed behind her and grabbed her by the hips. Emma wasn’t sure what had come over her, playing this little game of cat and mouse all day, teasing him to within an inch of his life, but she was enjoying it like nothing else they had ever done. His hands on her skin felt like red hot pokers, searing his fingerprints into the flesh there, the warmth between her legs igniting once more and causing her to clench her muscles.

“Ah ah, love,” Killian teased, giving one of her arse cheeks a playful slap and sending her crashing flat onto the bed. “Don’t you dare hold that wonderful nectar in.”

His hands were on her arse once more, long, lithe fingers kneading the globes with a growl. Emma smirked, her face buried into the thin sheet that covered the bed and she rolled her shoulders, and hummed contently. Killian was not about to let her out of his grasp, dragging his fingertips down the back of her thighs and pushing her legs together once he reached her knees, pinning her to the bed with his own weight as he straddled her legs. Before Emma had time to react, his fingers were tracing the crease of her behind, pushing between her legs and fishing around in the wet heat that was currently soaking the sheet underneath them.

“My word, aren’t we wet,” Killian rasped, teasing his finger around her entrance.

“Killian-,” Emma began in a breathy whisper, but Killian covered her back with his own body and canted his hips until his erection eased itself into the crease of her arse and had the rest of her words stolen in a gasp.

He let his weight envelope her, mindful not to crush her, but instead apply just enough pressure so that she was safely in his hold. Huge hands found the mattress beside her head and Emma felt dizzy with need, inhaling hard and smelling herself on his fingers. She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t move and she had never felt so loved in all her life.

“Please,” she begged, turning her face until her head lay sideways on the mattress and she could see the dark wisps of his hair falling over his forehead. Her hand reached behind her and clutched at his hip, a desperate please further enforced by her unadulterated need to feel his cock inside her. One of his hands brushed her hair aside, tucking it behind her ear before his tongue licked the outer shell with a husky moan.

“Gods, I love it when you beg,” Killian growled, his lips right next to her ear and his words sending shivers down her spine.

The sound that left her mouth was unlike anything Emma had ever heard from her own lips. She felt hot, her body melting into the mattress, the garbled mess of sounds tumbling from her throat just making Killian chuckle. His hands were on her, skimming over the curve of her hips that were pinned under his, his own enthusiastic panting turning her on even more. Emma tried to wiggle, to do anything to encourage Killian’s length where she wanted it, but he was steadfast, pressing his hands into the small of her back and pushing himself back into a sitting position.

His lips were on her instantly, tongue darting out to taste her as he kissed his way down her spine. It was agony, slow, torturous pain that fell just on the right side of pleasure and made Emma’s skin tighten over every single muscle in her body. The hair on the back of her head prickled to attention, her neck arching outward in an attempt to tempt his lips closer, but Killian just continued his journey down her back, making sure each and every bump of her spine was paid the utmost attention.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered between kisses, his hands placing featherlight touches after his lips to smooth away her trembling. “You’re so, so…” He stopped, fingers digging into her flesh in an attempt to stave off something Emma couldn’t make out, the feel of his jaw muscles clenching against the divet above her behind. Killian’s words were taken from him by the scent of her, her body making far more lubricant that he had seen before, cementing in his mind the idea that despite being Beta, Emma was made just for him.

“Taste me,” Emma whimpered, drawing his attention to her aching core with a lift of her buttocks. “I know you want to.”

“Oh, love,” Killian hissed, the softness of her cheeks rubbing over his sensitive tip. “How is it you know exactly what I want?” His lips were on her again, the skin of her arse cheeks rippling with goosebumps under his kiss. “What I need,” he added with a feral growl.

He sat back up, unable to take it anymore, taking himself in hand and stroking his length quickly. Emma grinned salaciously, her eyelids fluttering closed in anticipated pleasure she knew was coming. She eased her behind into the air which allowed for Killian to slide a pillow under her stomach. This had become a dance she was familiar with, the silence between them the only communication they needed, this position perfect for his cock to find the exact right spot over and over until they crashed in euphoria together.

Killian eased backwards, drawing his hands over her skin in a circular motion, encouraging her to relax that little bit more. Emma wasn’t sure how much more relaxed she could be. She felt like her body was floating already, the room spinning and her finger scrunching the material of the sheet in her grasp to ground her, but when Killian nosed into her folds from behind, there was nothing that could hold her steady. His tongue was scalding her, burning her from the inside out, the cool air in the room her only relief between his hungry gulps of her and the too long time he spent savouring the taste on his lips.

“How do I taste, Alpha?” Emma cooed, watching him lift his head at his title on her lips. They locked eyes and she bit her bottom lip coyly, flashing him a cheeky smile that was equal parts blissful and testing, his inner animal fighting to be free.

Any other time, Emma’s teasing would have been welcome, exciting even, but for some reason, Killian was overcome with the need to claim her. It was illogical, he knew that, but there was something about the scent of her, the remnants of her juices on his beard and those covering his tongue that made him roar inside. His skin felt like it was about to melt right off his bones, an itch that he couldn’t scratch just under the surface, but Emma was the remedy for his ills, his aches and his yearning and so, Killian was done being patient.

“Yes,” Emma hissed when she felt him position himself at her entrance.

Without preamble he was pushing home, entering her with one swift thrust of his hips and a sigh of relief. His body began to quake, the muscles in his upper thighs twitching when he tried to find his equilibrium. It was difficult, considering Emma had the ability to knock him for six simply by smiling at him, so the feel of her around him was almost suffocating. He froze, fighting off the maddening urge to pound into her relentlessly, aware that while she was very wet, and was already becoming accustomed to his size, the true Alpha nature that was clawing its way to the surface, or trying to, might scare her off.

Killian shifted his position, making sure he was seated inside of Emma as far as he could get, loving the way she pushed back onto him in an attempt to pull him in deeper. He clawed down her back, angling his hips upward, waiting for Emma to adjust her own body to where she felt most comfortable with his ever welcome intrusion. After a gasp and a shudder, Emma was lifting one knee, sliding her leg across the sheet and forcing Killian to roll over to the side so he was resting on his side behind her. Reluctant to slip from her tight heat, he followed the arch of her spine with more searing hot, open mouthed kisses, eager hands grabbing any part of her he could.

Silently, Emma moved his hand from her waist to her breast, flattening her palm over his and forcing him to knead the aching flesh. Her nipples hardened even more, the skin pulling tight around them, the bullet like buds telling Killian exactly what he already knew. Emma wanted more, breathless pleas leaving her mouth in nothing understandable, but her body crying out for what only he could give her.

Killian shushed her, soothing her need with more tender kisses, his length rooted inside of her as far as he could possibly get except for the swell of his knot. He repositioned himself so that he could kiss her face, one hand stroking the slightly damp side of her brow whilst the other held her still beneath him. Killian slid his lips to her cheek, placing soft kisses to the raised apple of it when she smiled. He loved her smile, and could lose himself in it forever, and with a smirk of his own, he planted his lips firmly on the corner of her mouth.

“Love,” Killian whispered against her lips, the corners of her mouth ticking up with pleasure at his endearment. He was drunk on her scent, the strength of it overpowering his brain as he dragged his forehead over the bare skin of her shoulder, and couldn’t stop the words before they slipped from his mouth. “I wish you were mine.”

Emma’s skin sent a ripple of anticipation through her entire body and all of the hair on her arms stood to attention at his words that she just knew weren’t said flippantly. Killian had never been one to confuse his words, but this was the first time she had ever heard him speak what was in his mind. She didn’t respond, afraid of him realising that she had heard what he had said, instead, rolling her bottom lip under her teeth, and flattening herself to the mattress where his engorged cock rubbed her in all the right places.

“Oh, fuck,” she whimpered before she could stop herself.

Killian was reluctant to leave the warmth of her skin but he did, forcing himself up on his forearms and pulling his hips back. His cock dragged against Emma’s insides, deliciously working her up, causing her body to coat his length in even more glorious wetness. It made him growl, a low gutteral sound from deep within him, and he slammed himself back into her with a stiff, clenched jaw. His nails raked down her ribcage, over each bump with increasing intensity to match his thrusts, one after the other that forced her legs open wider and expelled all the breath from her lungs.

“Knot me,” Emma whined, her words desperate and almost painful.

She was so close to coming, balancing right on the edge of her orgasm, but she just needed that little push to achieve what was fast becoming her favourite feeling in the world. The burning stretch of Killian’s knot as it entered her was addictive, all of the blood rushing to her stretched muscles and providing her with pinprick sensitivity through her entire core. The hair on his stomach rubbed at her buttocks, his cock so deep that he barely left her skin to cant his hips, and it was just the way she liked it, pressing on her pleasure center repeatedly.

“Are you sure?” Killian grunted, the bulb of his knot exposing itself at her words alone. She hadn’t come yet and he was afraid of hurting her, but the way she was writhing against his cock, hungry for his knot told him that he should trust her. She knew her own body far better than anyone, and if she wanted his knot, who was he to argue.

“Yes,” Emma hissed. “I need all of you.”

“Alright, love,” Killian purred with a grin. “As you wish.”

Soft, manly hands were heavy on her back but felt as light as air, almost invisible with how they were escorting her through the clouds of her mind. Emma was boneless, her soul on the outside of her body and the room around her faded away to reveal nothing but white hot bliss. She went limp, flattening herself against Killian’s hand that had found its way to her clit, rubbing herself in one direction against his fingers in a steady rhythm whilst he countered in the opposite. She was coming, the inside of her bones fizzing with pleasure, and the press of Killian’s bulb against her entrance made her whimper.

Killian leaned harder into her, his jaw clenched tightly and sweat beading his brow under the loose hair that flopped there. His thighs burned from the tempo of his love making, and the muscles in his back rippled with each thrust, his knot exposing itself to the cool air of the room just before slamming into Emma’s core, sending her into oblivion and the contractions of her muscles around him pulling him with her. Killian’s legs trembled and he grabbed at the flesh of Emma’s behind hungrily, letting out a groan of pleasure as he emptied himself inside of her and felt his inner beast howl with delight. It was a few moments before he realised he might be hurting her and relaxed his grip on her skin, smoothing his palm over the area before giving her a playful slap.

“Mmmm,” she hummed with a smile, enjoying the way Killian was seated inside of her.

Killian pulled the pillow out from underneath her and arranged them into a more comfortable position. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace and kissing her quickly. Small tiny pecks along the width of her shoulders made her arch into him even more, the throb of her muscles around him massaging his knot bulb and making sure he didn’t slip from her body. A shiver prompted Killian to pull the sheet up over them, something that had been pushed down to the foot of the bed by their vigorous activities, and he smoothed it down over the curve of Emma’s body to make sure she was fully covered and would feel no chill as her body temperature returned to normal.

“Is that what you needed, my love?” Killian’s words were but a whisper, mumbled into the back of Emma’s ear and were followed by him nuzzling into her neck. He buried his face in her hair, unaware of what he had let slip in his own selfish error, until he felt her stiffen in his arms. Killian frowned, unsure what was wrong for a second, still lost to his own euphoria, but when Emma began to quake and sob, his panic soon chased away his pleasure. “Emma, love, what’s wrong?”

Emma couldn’t hold in her emotion any longer. A combination of the flutters of orgasm and the pain in her heart was just too great to contain any longer. Emma enjoyed seeing Killian, more than she liked to admit to herself, and of late she had felt an almighty draw to more than just the idea of sleeping with an Alpha. Emma was pulled toward Killian by a connection she couldn’t explain, by one she didn’t want to understand anymore than at its most basic level. She craved him and needed him more than she thought possible, and Killian’s words had opened up something inside of her that she had been trying to hold back.

It wasn’t for the sake of her marriage, because that was as good as over in her eyes. No, it was more than that. Emma had been trying to convince herself that a loveless marriage would be what she could settle for if she got what she wanted out of it, the Alpha experience she had been so intrigued by her whole life, but all finding Killian had shown her was what she was actually missing from her life.

Love.

“Emma?” Killian pried again, a little gentler than before but with no less panic stricken words. “Please,” he begged her, his own emotion creeping up his throat. He ground his teeth, wishing that he had waited to bury himself inside of her but also wishing he hadn’t, cursing himself for rushing after her high as eagerly as he had. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, nothing like that,” she assured him quickly, shaking her head.

“Then what, my sweet?” Killian soothed. His hands found her face, as awkward as their position allowed in their current join, and he wiped away her tears with his thumb.

“That,” Emma sobbed, turning her face further into the pillow. “My love, my sweet, Killian, you can’t say these things-.”

“And if I mean them?” Killian interjected her quickly, swallowing the lump in his throat. He tucked a crooked finger under her chin and tilted her face back towards his.

Emma’s breath hitched in her throat and she pinched her eyes closed even tighter, scared to look him in the eye. “Do you?” Her eyes fluttered open and met his, the darkened greys fading away to the beautiful shade of blue that she now saw.

“Aye,” Killian said with a nod and the small tick of a smile. He had never been much of a gambler, or been so apprehensive to say the next words out of his mouth, but with a small lick of his lips, he laid all of his cards on the table. “Emma, I love you.

Liam threw down the cards in his hand again, a disgruntled huff leaving his mouth through tightly pursed lips. He had never had much luck when it came to playing poker, or gambling of any kind really, but his brother had insisted on a game or two after hours. The bar had been closed for an hour, way into the early hours of the morning now, and all Liam had found was that Will Scarlet was either very lucky or with each hand he had something up his sleeve to guarantee his victory. Literally.

“You’re cheating,” he accused, narrowing his eyes as yet again, Will pawed his winnings towards him with an excited chuckle.

“Oh, come now, brother,” Killian teased, collecting the cards from each of them and setting them back into a pile. “That’s not very sportsmanlike.”

“Yeah, Liam,” Will added, stacking up his ever increasing pile of chips. “Where is your dignity in defeat?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t been defeated,” Liam groused. “I’ve been cheated out of my hard earned money by a thief!”

Will hurled himself back in his chair and the whole thing skidded across the floor. “Your words wound me, sir!”

Liam blinked. “But you are a thief, Scarlet!”

“Former thief,” Will corrected.

“Now, now, gents,” Killian bellowed above them, his voice echoing ever so slightly in the now empty bar. At his words, Liam crossed his arms over his body and twisted his mouth as if trying to stop the words he wanted to say from coming out. “Would you like to shuffle the deck, Liam?” Killian offered as a means of placating his brother.

“I don’t know what good that would do,” Liam huffed, ignoring the outstretched hand of his younger brother.

“Yeah, it won’t help how shite you are,” Will grumbled under his breath.

“Right!” Liam bellowed, slapping his hands to the table. “You are barred!” He pointed a menacing finger at Will, a vein bulging on his forehead.

“Again?” Will smirked cockily.

“Alright, Will, leave the man be,” Killian told his friend with a playful grin. “And, Liam? You and I both know Will spends more money than anyone else in this place, so in reality, isn’t he just taking back his own hard earned money?”

Liam was silent. His brother, although younger, was often much wiser in how he saw the world. Where Liam saw good and bad, Killian saw circumstances, especially when a person was one or the other based on what kind of hand life had dealt them. Will had been a thief, it was true, but where Liam had only ever seen their mutual friend as that which he was, Killian had seen the why and the how, and it was all down to circumstance. And now, due to a change in his circumstances, Will was no longer a thief.

Technically.

Killian knew that Will had hidden cards up his sleeve, literally, but he saw no point in ever calling him out on it. Their games were less about playing poker and more about being with like minded Alphas who just wanted to get their heads down and get through life as unnoticed as possible. Killian ignored Will’s sleight of hand, Will never mentioned Killian’s confidential life problems and Liam was none the wiser to either.

Except tonight, because Will Scarlet was also a chatty drunk.

“So, still dreaming about the wife?” Will teased, his words only a little bit slurred as he lifted the remainder of his pint to his lips.

“What wife?” Liam frowned, reaching for the cards he had been dealt.

“Little Miss Confidentiality Agreement,” Will said with a gulp of his drink.

“Seriously?” Liam shot Killian a look and his eyes went wide.

“Yeah, Killian can’t say anything or he doesn’t get paid,” Will giggled.

“Will,” Killian warned, trying to ignore the way his brother was boring a hole into the side of his head with his stare.

“Relax,” Will said cheekily “I’m not going to tell Liam how much you got for last night or anything.” He took another long gulp of his beer, barely swallowing the fizzy drink before he coughed out a number. “Fifteen.”

“Hundred?” Liam looked up from his cards.

“No, Thousand,” Will said gleefully. “Hey, we both thought hundreds, isn’t that funny?” He noted, giving Liam a drunk smile.

“Killian!” Liam shrieked, his knees bumping the underside of the table. Will’s stack of chips toppled over and he tutted under his breath, scrambling to right the towers in front of him.

“What?” Killian gave Liam a sheepish look.

“Do you think it’s because we are both so modest?” Will continued, prattling away to himself.

“Tell me our drunk magician here is lying,” Liam implored his brother, pointing his thumb in Will’s direction.

“Is it so hard to believe a woman would pay that much for sex?” Killian asked, trying to dodge Liam’s question.

“Uh, yes!” Liam yelled.

“Exactly why her husband is paying,” Will snorted through his laugh.

“Her husband?!” Liam coughed, eyes wide and hands forgetting the cards he had been dealt. He tossed them to the table and leaned closer to his brother.

“Will, can you just shut up, for one second in your life?” Killian growled.

“Oh, right, bite my head off! I’m only the one who got you the gig,” Will snapped defensively.

“I’m sorry, Killian, did he say her husband?” Liam blinked again, trying to comprehend Will’s little slip of the tongue.

“Yes,” Killian nodded, closing his eyes in anticipation of Liam’s inevitable rant.

“Is paying you fifteen thousand dollars to sleep with his wife?” Liam could hardly believe the words that were coming out of his own mouth, but here they were, discussing his little brother making more money than either of them could ever hope to comprehend in their lifetime. And for what? Fucking a rich wife?

“Yes,” Killian sighed.

“That’s each time too,” Will chimed in, peeking at Liam’s discarded cards.

“Who is he?” Liam squeaked.

“He can’t say. He signed a thing.” Will waved his hands, slumping back in his chair. “Are we going to play cards, or what lads?”

“WILL!” Killian and Liam bellowed in unison.

“Alright! Bloody hell,” Will scoffed. He crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. “Didn’t want to make any money tonight anyway,” he muttered under his breath.

“You should see her, Liam,” Killian told his brother eagerly. He shuffled forward in his chair, finally discarding his own cards now he had no reason to need to distract himself. “She’s so unhappy in her marriage, I just wish I could take her away from it all.”

At Killian’s rambling confession, most likely because of the way his own alcohol intake has loosened his lips, Will choked on the last gulp of his beer.

“Woah, easy there, studly Jones,” Will warned with a cough.

“Should you be thinking like that? About a married woman, I mean,” Liam clarified but he already had his answer, it was plastered on Killian’s face.

He’d seen love once, had it even, but he never thought he would see the day that he saw it on his own brother’s face. Killian had never been the biggest, most imposing Alpha in the room, and he had never really so much as sniffed at a relationship before, but there was something about the way his eyes glowed, as if sparked to life by a divine light, that told Liam his brother might have just found his soul mate.

“All I've done is think about her,” Killian breathed, his heart constricting at the thought of Emma in his arms.

“Killian,” Liam said low, his voice even. He moistened his lips and rubbed the patch of stubble under his lip.

“I know, I know, but-” Killian protested.

“No buts, mate, love ‘em and leave ‘em, that’s the job,” Will reminded him with an arched brow.

“Maybe you just always want to ‘leave ‘em’ because ugly women pick you?” Killian snapped.

“Hey!” Will objected with a frown. “I’ll have you know I’m very popular.”

“Only because you’re an Alpha, mate,” Killian teased.

“And because you’ll stick your dick in anything,” Liam added with a grin.

“Yeah, remind me, how much to sleep with you again?” Killian smirked, ribbing him further.

“Alright, alright!” Will huffed, side eyeing both the brothers with a scowl. “I get it, I’m not as pretty as a Jones.”

“It’s alright, mate.” Killian leaned towards him, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “There is nothing wrong with that, right Liam?”

“Of course not,” Liam said as sincerely as he could, fighting his urge to crack a smirk as he rested his elbows on the table and leaned closer to Will. “One day you’ll find a woman who will leave the lights on,” he sniggered.

“Fuck off,” Will scoffed, laughter erupting from his mouth on his next breath.

Both Jones’ laughed with him, and he knew there was no malice behind their words. There never had been, throughout all the years they had known each other and through the entire duration of the same joke; Will was not, and never would be, as handsome as a Jones. But he had never minded, because the fact he was an Alpha was all he needed to excel in life. Even if most of his clients did, in fact, leave the lights off. Not that he was about to tell either Jones that.

“I’m happy when I’m with her and at a tremendously sad loss I can’t explain when I am not.” Killian scrubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw, recognizing his dilemma. “I know it sounds crazy, but I feel a connection with her, like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

“Like what? A mate connection?” Will frowned.

“I don’t know.” Killian shook his head, running his hands through his hair. “Gods, this is a mess.”

“Too right, mate,” Will scoffed, trying to dry off his chips.

“And this isn’t some sort of saviour complex. She doesn’t need saving, I just-.” Killian paused, a sad smile briefly gracing his face as he looked at his brother’s compassion. “I feel like I’d die without her, Liam, I truly do.”

“I’d prefer you alive, if that’s at all an option,” Liam told him softly but with a slight warning to his tone.

Killian balked a laugh. “I don’t think the husband has the time to do anything between work and his mistress.”

“How do you know that?” Liam challenged.

“What, that he has a mistress? He told me,” Killian shrugged. He reached for his beer, the chilled glass wet on the outside, and took a sip of the now warming liquid. “He’s a pig, Liam, an utter wanker. He doesn’t deserve her.”

“What a bastard.” Liam ground his teeth in anger. “Is she an Omega?”

“She isn’t.” Killian shook his head and Liam frowned, confused. “But there is something about her, Liam, I just know-”

“Shall I tell you what I know, little brother? She is a married woman, affluent by the sounds of it, and you are probably nothing more than her plaything.” Liam pushed himself to his feet and Killian watched him with utter sadness on his face. “But let me tell you what I don’t know.”

Killian’s head snapped up, as did Will’s, albeit with a little bit more of a sway. Liam paused, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling hard, causing Killian and Will to share a confused look as they waited for the rest of his words.

“I don’t know how she feels,” Liam smiled at his brother, who looked visibly relieved to know his brother was accepting his words.

Killian was more than confused by what his body was telling him and to know his brother was on board was a weight off his mind. Alpha’s were more attuned to their bodies and drawn to a mate based on scent, but Emma wasn’t anyone he should have been attracted to in the way an Alpha was to an Omega. There was her beauty, which was nothing to be scoffed at by any means, but it wasn’t the usual Alpha draw, and Killian couldn’t find what made him so attracted to Emma as hard as he tried.

“I told her I love her,” Killian confessed drunkenly.

“You did?” Liam’s eyes went bright.

“Oh boy,” Will gasped, then blew out a whistle.

“What did she say?” Liam asked earnestly.

Killian sighed, scrubbing his hands down his face. “She didn’t.”

“I guess that means you’ll have to ask her,” Will noted.

As if Killian needed any more of a sign, his cell phone started vibrating in his pocket and once he had retrieved it from the confines of his jeans, and seen Emma’s name on the screen, he paled and swallowed hard.

“It’s her,” he breathed.

“Well, don’t just stand there like a Beta, answer it!” Will yelled.

With a nod from Liam, Killian swiped his thumb across the screen and pressed the cold glass to his ear. For what felt like forever there was a pause and what sounded like a dead line, until he heard her smile and turned to walk away from his brother and rowdy friend.

“Hey,” he said softly, pushing his way through the empty tables towards the back of the bar. He had one finger in his ear to drown out the sound of Will cackling with glee.

“Hey,” Emma replied quickly, but her voice was filled with trepidation.

Killian frowned and he felt his stomach fall away from him. Worry overtook him instantly. Was it what he had said? Something her husband had said? Something changed in their arrangement that would stop him from seeing her again? “Are you alright, love?”

“Yeah, it’s just,” Emma paused, the silence on the line deafening. “Can you meet me? Like, now.”

“Of course,” Killian agreed without a second thought, his feet already taking him towards the exit.

“At the apartment,” Emma said softly.

“I’ll be right there.”

#A/B/O #cs fic #cs au #a/b/o dynamics #the contract #ch 6 #alpha!killian #omegaverse #fanart for fanfic by the love fabiana

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kmomof4 · 2 years ago

Text

Dream a Little Dream: A Birthday Fic for @jrob64

Happy birthday, Joni!!!!

When @everything-person shared this prompt in the MM Discord, When my mom used to have nightmares, my dad would talk in her ear while she was sleeping “find me. I’m right here. Look around and find me. I’m here. You are safe with me.”, I knew I wanted to write it. And when @motherkatereloyshipper asked for the Tell-Tale Mutt for her birthday, I still wanted to write it and remembered that your birthday was just a little over a week away. I thought it was such a beautiful picture and that it would fit beautifully into @kymbersmith-90‘s Fairytales universe. So with that in mind, and her blessing, I decided it would make a wonderful little emotional hurt/comfort fic for your birthday. I so hope you enjoy it!

Thank you so much for your blessing and your beta services, Kym, even under the very much less than ideal circumstances.

Fic Summary: From the prompt on CSMM Discord by @Everything-person: When my mom used to have nightmares, my dad would talk in her ear while she was sleeping “find me. I’m right here. Look around and find me. I’m here. You are safe with me.”

In @kymbersmith-90 Fairytales universe, Emma has a nightmare and Killian comforts her.

Rating: M (Smut)

Words: 1654

Tags: Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Fairytales Universe

On ao3

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

@hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @klynn-stormz @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @zaharadessert @elizabeethan @xhookswenchx @gingerpolyglot @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @sailtoafarawayland @justanother-unluckysoul @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @the-darkdragonfly @batana54 @purplehawkcaptain @k-leemac @motherkatereloyshipper @apiratewhopines @killiansqueenofthejollyroger @onceuponahookandswan @meat-pie-with-sauce @cosette141 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @fleurdepetite @hookmecaptain @o-wild-west-wind

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Dream a Little Dream

Killian Jones was brought out of a sound sleep to find his fiance in the beginning throes of a nightmare. Her forehead was furrowed, her eyes squeezed tight as her head thrashed back and forth on her pillow. The gasp of fear and then the low moan of remembered pain that poured from her lips galvanized him into action.

Gathering her in his arms, he held her close and whispered in her ear.

“I’m here, Emma,” he murmured. “Find me. I’m with you. Find me in the dream.”

Tears filled his eyes as she continued her anguished flailing in his arms. It had been months since she’d had a nightmare of that terrible night and seeing her like this just brought back all the terror and hopelessness he felt in those weeks before she woke up after the attack that nearly killed her. But given the trial beginning in the morning, he wasn’t terribly surprised.

She was reaching the height of the nightmare, pushing against him, trying to get away. He held her tighter, unable to check the tears rolling down his face, but knowing that keeping her close now would bring the terror to an end sooner rather than later. She mumbled his name in her sleep and he rolled on his back, bringing her with him so he could carry all of the weight of her and her burden on himself. He continued whispering in her ear while running his hands up and down her back, her arms, everywhere he could reach, trying to bring her out of her terror, back to him.

Finally, she exhaled deeply, relaxing in his embrace, his name just a whisper on her breath, and he knew she’d found him. The nightmare was over. He continued holding her close, his touch gentling as she fully surrendered to peaceful slumber. A few minutes later, she turned her head into his naked chest, wiping the moisture that had gathered in the corners of her eyes before resting her chin on his sternum and opening them.

“Are you alright, love?” he asked, stroking her golden hair in the darkness.

“Mmhmmm,” she hummed in response. Her eyes were still bright, shining with more unshed tears. “He was there. In the dream. He was there with them. Just laughing while they stalked me.”

“I’m so sorry, Emma,” he murmured, holding her even tighter as she laid her head back on his chest.

“But then you were there,” she continued. “You were there, holding me, protecting me. Everything else dissolved around us. Except you. You were right there and I knew everything would be alright. Then I woke up.”

Killian sighed in relief. “I’m not going anywhere, Emma. And in a couple of months, all of this will be over. Never to bother us again.”

“Is it bad that I wish it was already over?” she asked. “I wish I didn’t have to be there. I don’t want to lay eyes on him ever again. I just want to move on with my life.” She gazed into his eyes. “Move on with our lives.”

“Of course not, Emma,” he assured her. “I feel exactly the same way. But I do think it’s important for us to be there. To let him see his failure and your triumph.” He stroked her hair gently again as he got lost in her veridian depths. “I want to bring this all to a close, too, and move into our future. A future where you are my wife and everyone knows who you are. A future where we raise our family, whether we make that family by natural means or by adoption. A future where you are safe and happy.”

Emma smiled. “I am. As long as I’m with you.” She moved up and kissed him soundly on the lips, smiling wider when his mouth opened and he stroked the seam of her lips with his tongue. She opened to him on a breathy moan, amazed yet again at the gentle passion he always showered her with when they kissed. When they made love.

His fingers tangled in her hair sending a shiver cascading down her spine before one hand cupped her jaw and tilted her head just a bit allowing him to deepen the kiss.

“I love you so much, Emma,” he murmured against her skin, peppering her jaw with tiny kisses as his hands moved downward and under the hem of the camisole she wore to bed.

He reached up, cupping her breast, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in his wake. Emma gasped as he gently pinched her nipple, bringing it quickly to attention. She rose from her position on top of him, a groan of protest escaping him as she did, but the sound was quickly cut off and his eyes gleamed as he helped her remove her top, exposing her breasts. He cupped them gently and then drew her back down to his mouth where he proceeded to lick and lave the fleshy globes, driving her mad with desire.

Emma reached down to the waistband of his sleep pants and slipped her hand in, stroking him firmly. He was already ready for her and she couldn’t wait to have him inside her. She pushed his pants down and threw her leg over him, straddling his hips. She ground against him, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as he struggled to speak.

“Not yet, Emma,” he begged, “I need to taste you first. Please.”

She smirked at him, thoroughly intoxicated on the power he gave her over him and the love mixed with lust shining in his blue eyes.

“Well, since you said ‘please’,” she said, teasingly.

She got up from their bed and removed her panties, standing nude before him for a moment. She still struggled to keep from covering her scars when they were together, but then she remembered Killian telling her how beautiful he thought they were. They were proof that she’d survived and that was more important than anything else.

Tears gathered as she thought of how grateful she was for everything that had brought them to this place. Indulging a whim to go to her first Fairytales convention over a year ago, meeting Killian in person, his courage in reaching out to her when she would have thought he’d never think about her a second time, getting rid of Neal for good, reconciling with Killian in Vegas. Then in the aftermath of the attack, his steadfastness and love when she tried to push him away, believing that he’d be happier with someone who could definitely give him children rather than her, all the doctors, nurses, and therapists that had helped with her recovery, and finally, all the members of law enforcement that worked together to see her attackers brought to justice.

“What are you thinking, love?”

“Just how grateful I am to have you here,” she told him. “To be by my side. Forever.”

Killian smiled gently at her. “Forever, Emma.” He reached out for her. “Now come here.”

She smiled and placed her hand in his own, climbing up on the bed and settling over his face. She leaned forward, placing her hands on his abs and gasped when his tongue touched her swollen flesh, licking a long stripe through her sodden folds. “Oh, God, Killian,” she cried.

“Divine, Emma,” he murmured. “You taste positively divine.” He dove back in driving her higher and higher as he plunged two fingers into her. She cried out her climax, riding his face as Killian held her hips firmly in place, gently bringing her down from her high. She collapsed against him, her mouth only inches from his rigid cock. His hips jumped when her warm breath moved over him before she kissed the tip.

“Now I get what I want,” Emma murmured. She turned around and straddled his hips, grinding herself down again on his almost painful arousal.

“Please, Emma,” he begged, holding her hips still.

Emma looked into his eyes, his wrecked countenance, and slowly nodded. She was just as desperate for him as he was for her and she didn’t think she’d ever get over that. She lifted her hips until she felt him line up with her entrance before sinking down over him until she was full to the brim. She rolled her hips, drawing a positively indecent moan from them both before she began to ride him.

“Yes, Emma,” Killian groaned. “Ride me hard, darling. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Killian,” she murmured, rising and falling over him. Her thighs were starting to burn with the exertion when Killian grabbed her hips and started driving into her, meeting her stroke for stroke.

“Come for me, darling,” he urged her, his fingers circling her clit. Emma was helpless to do anything but obey him. Her second climax crashed over her, even more powerful than the first, dragging him with her into sated completion.

Falling against him, Emma nuzzled into his chest, tucking her head under his chin. She sighed happily when she felt Killian’s fingers running along the planes of her back.

“Hmmm,” she murmured. “Can’t really say I mind the nightmares, if this is how they end.”

Killian bark laughed at her statement. “Well, I do mind, since we can do this anytime we want for the rest of our lives.”

Emma lifted up and looked at the man she loved. “I know. I was only teasing.”

“I know you were, Emma.” He pulled her back down to him, encircling her in the safety of his arms. He placed a gentle kiss to her lips before she settled back down, her body lined up next to his, her head on his shoulder like a pillow. “Sleep now. Safe and sound. I love you, Emma.”

“I love you, too, Killian. Good night,” she murmured sleepily before slipping into dreams.

The End.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! I’d love to know what you think! Happiest of birthdays, Joni!

#dream a little dream #birthday fic #jrob64 #fairytales universe #krystal writes

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wistfulcynic · 5 years ago

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Love Blooms

Summary: Princess Emma and Lieutenant Killian Jones have been together for three years. They’re deeply in love and an engagement is imminent. There’s only one problem: His brother doesn’t know about them, and Killian isn’t sure how to tell him. So when Liam finds out by accident, all that’s left is for Emma and Killian to fill him in on the story of how they met.

This is that story.

(a prequel--and sequel--to Error 404: “Little” Brother Not Found)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @mariakov81!!! My lovely, brilliantly talented Masha, you are a pure delight. Your gif responses make me laugh and your art makes me cry. Your enthusiasm and love of fic is so inspiring and your encouragement is one of the reasons I’m still writing. I love you lots. 😘

You mentioned that you’d like to read a meet-cute, so I hope this one pleases you. Have a FANTASTIC day ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Rating: G Words: 4.3k Tags: Lieutenant Duckling, Modern Lieutenant Duckling, Modern Royalty AU, Brothers Jones, College AU, Meet-Cute

On AO3

Love Blooms:

It should have worked, really. As risky plans go, it was a pretty solid one. It should absolutely have worked.

Princess Emma was easily recognisable, of course. As the only royal child and heir to the throne she’d been photographed extensively all her life, and those photos disseminated throughout the kingdom. But they were always taken in controlled situations, with her hair carefully styled and her clothing precisely engineered to invoke a very specific image. Her parents made absolutely certain of that.

After the attempted coup by the queen’s stepmother on the day of the princess’s birth, the king and queen had taken decisive action to protect their only child and to ensure that no one but trusted personnel had access to her. On the rare occasions when she left the expansive palace grounds, no paparazzi followed her and none of Misthaven’s citizens so much as snuck a sneaky pic with a cell phone. Emma was to have protection and privacy until she came of age and officially took on her royal duties. That was the deal her parents made with the press and the people, and they enforced it rigidly.

It should have worked. Emma’s most recognisable feature—her long, bright gold hair—was dyed a temporary dirty blonde (her mother nearly cried) and her green eyes shielded by large glasses. Most days she pulled her hair back in a ponytail and wore no makeup. She dressed in jeans and t-shirts, like any other college kid. It was a good plan. It should have worked.

She hadn’t reckoned on Killian Jones.

She’d known him for a few years, sort of. For several months of the summer she was sixteen while his brother served as a member of her personal guard, Killian had hovered around the edges of her world, thin and gawky and usually with his nose in a book. The one time they were introduced he’d gulped visibly and made an awkward bow, then got away as soon as he could. But not before he’d made an impression.

She wasn’t sure what it was about him that caught her eye—possibly the way he seemed to be trying so hard not to catch it, or the size and variety of the books she saw him reading, or the way he would smirk and roll his eyes whenever he heard something he thought inane (which happened fairly frequently; polite conversation at court was not exactly scintillating). Possibly it was just those eyes, the bright, clear blue of them and the intelligence and humour she was sure she detected in their depths. Whatever it was it made butterflies dance in her belly whenever she saw him, and though they exchanged no more than a dozen words in the months he was at court she couldn’t seem to get him out of her head.

“What does your brother do?” she’d asked Commander Jones one afternoon, as casually as she could.

“He’s starting at the university in the autumn,” the commander replied, pride audible in his voice. “Going to study physics and engineering.”

“Wow.” Emma wished she didn’t find that so impressive.

“He’s a smart lad,” said Commander Jones with a grin. “He’ll change the world, mark my words.”

Emma marked them, though she asked no further questions. It wouldn’t do to appear too interested.

That was August. By October Killian Jones was gone from her life and so was his brother, the elder Jones off to serve on Misthaven’s flagship and the younger of course, to the university. And that really should have been the end of it.

Her desire to go to university herself had nothing to do with Killian, it truly didn’t. She hadn’t forgotten he was there, exactly, but her determination to attend had far more to do with her status as heir to the throne and wishing to be as prepared as she possibly could be when she became queen.

“But your tutors have given you the best education you could have,” her mother pointed out. “You’ve studied the history and political structure of Misthaven and all its allies and enemies. You’ve read all our country’s great books and know the history of our art. You speak six languages. That’s far more knowledge than I had when I became queen. What else are you looking for?”

“I want a chance to get to know the people I’m going to be ruling,” said Emma. “That’s one thing you had that I don’t. I’ve spent my whole life in the palace, and I know you kept me here for my own safety but I’m nineteen now and I want to meet people. Real ones. Ones who don’t know I’m the princess.”

“Emma—”

“Just give me a year,” she pleaded. “Just a year to go to college and live like a normal student. I’ll wear a disguise and go by a different name, you can even plant guards around me if you must but please, please just let me do this.”

In the end her parents relented. Her mother, despite her tears at the new hair colour, had been unconvinced that the small changes Emma made to her appearance would be enough of a disguise, but Emma insisted they were plenty and her father backed her up.

“Do you know why no one figured out Clark Kent was Superman?” Emma asked, as King David nodded approvingly behind her. “It wasn’t because putting on glasses was such an intricate disguise. It’s because the idea of Superman working at a newspaper was so completely absurd. No one saw a superhero in an ordinary reporter and no one’s going to see the princess of the realm in an ordinary literature major. People see what they expect to see.”

And they had. All of them. All except Killian Jones.

She really hadn’t reckoned on him.

She settled in well to college life, though it was not the easiest transition going from her own suite of rooms in the palace to a tiny dorm shared with another student, a bright, chatty girl called Ruby. Ruby was easygoing and outgoing and always going. She loved to party and whenever she went out tried to coax Emma along as well, and though Emma really had gone to college with the intent to study, she reasoned that her main aim in being there was to get to know her people, and what better way to do that than at a party?

Which is how she found herself two weeks into her first semester standing in the living room of a run-down student house, sipping valiantly at some locally-brewed ale and trying to remember the names of all the people Ruby introduced her to, and trying to remember that when they said ‘Anna,’ they were talking to her.

She was chatting with a boy called Walsh who had a supercilious smile and, she soon realised, a very high opinion of himself, when her flagging attention was caught by shrieks of laughter coming from the other side of the room. She glanced over in search of their source then immediately looked again, blinking rapidly to keep her eyes from bugging out of her head.

There across the room, surrounded by a largish group of people—one of whom, Emma noted, was Ruby—stood Killian Jones. It was him, she was sure of it, sure that she would recognise him anywhere, but oh, the changes time had wrought on the boy she’d known. She wasn’t sure if he really was any taller but he looked it, standing straight with his shoulders squared. There was stubble on his jaw and hair on his chest, clearly displayed by the undone buttons of his henley, and his eyes—so much brighter when not hidden behind thick glasses—twinkled as he delivered a quip that had everyone around him exploding in fresh peals of mirth.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, staring so hard she could see the exact moment he sensed her gaze and turned, his own eyes widening immediately in recognition. Of course he recognised her, Emma thought, he would; however older and cooler and hotter he might be now he was still the smartest boy she’d ever met and Superman’s disguise could not fool him.

He stared at her for the longest moment of her life and then he winked—the worst excuse for a wink she’d ever seen—and turned his attention back to his crowd. Emma breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to blow her cover.

She realised with a start that Walsh had kept on talking this whole time and she hadn’t heard a word he said. He seemed to realise that too, finally, and scowled at her.

“Hey,” he said. “Earth to Anna.”

“Sorry.” She offered a polite smile. “My mind wandered.”

“Well, wander it back over here,” he said. “I was telling you all about my Reddit subgroup I started, and you weren’t even listening.”

“Sorry,” she repeated. “Though actually, would you excuse me, I—”

“Are you kidding me?” he snapped, his scowl darkening. “I bring you a drink, come all the way over here to talk to you. All I ask in return is a little bit of attention and you can’t even give me that.”

“I—”

“I’m a nice guy, you know,” he continued, moving closer. “I’d treat you right. Don’t think I didn’t see who you were looking at just now. If you think those guys would treat you better than I—”

“Look, Welsh—” Emma interrupted, bristling at his presumption and his tone.

“It’s Walsh.”

“Yes, sorry, Walsh. Um, I don’t know what you think this is, but we only just met. We’ve been talking for ten minutes and it’s basically been you monologuing about Reddit the whole time. If you’re really looking to connect with people it might be better to ask them something about themselves instead of dominating the conversation.”

“Oh, right, because it’s all about you, isn’t it?”

“That’s not what I—”

“You’re not even that pretty, you know,” he sneered. “Glasses are really unattractive on a woman.”

Emma began to sputter with indignation. No one had ever spoken to her in such a way before and she was outraged to learn that there were men in her realm who felt that it was acceptable to insult women as long as they weren’t royalty, apparently. Walsh smirked as she struggled to find words vile enough to express her opinion of him, and then a deep voice spoke from just over her shoulder.

“Perhaps you’re the one who needs glasses, mate, if that’s what you really think.”

Emma didn’t even need the butterflies leaping up in her belly to know that the voice was Killian’s. Her heart began to pound in time to the butterflies’ dance as she turned to find him standing just behind her, glowering darkly at Walsh. “I’m certain the lady told you she’s not interested, so why don’t you bugger off back to whatever rock you crawled out from under?” he snarled.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” blustered Walsh.

“And yet I just did.”

“Who the hell do you think you are—”

“He’s my boyfriend.” Emma jumped in before the scene could escalate, blurting the first thing that popped into her head. Walsh gaped at her, so astounded that he failed to notice Killian’s own slack jaw and bugging eyes. Killian recovered quickly, however, and casually looped an arm around Emma’s shoulders.

“Aye,” he said. “I am.”

Emma slipped her own arm around his waist, leaning her head against his shoulder and doing her best not to faint. He was surprisingly sturdy and he smelled so good. She wanted to bury her nose in his neck and just breathe.

“So stop trying it on with my girlfriend and piss off,” he said, tightening his arm to tuck her more securely against his side while also managing to loom over Walsh through the sheer force of his personality, despite them being more or less of a height.

Walsh glared at Killian and then at Emma and then back to Killian again, and when neither of them budged he reached out and snatched the cup of ale from Emma’s hand.

“I’ll be taking that back, then,” he huffed, and marched away.

“Thank goodness,” said Emma. “It was not pleasant.”

“Dwarf ale,” remarked Killian. “Not for the faint of stomach.”

Emma chuckled and looked up at him, into those bright blue eyes that had never faded from her memory. He grinned back at her, a grin with an edge it hadn’t had three years ago, and she caught her breath.

“Killian—” she began, then his eyes went wide with horror and his ears flushed bright pink. He pulled his arm away so quickly she stumbled and stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Em—er, Your High—”

“Shhhh,” hissed Emma, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a quiet corner. “Careful or you’ll blow my cover. My name’s Anna now. Anna Swan.”

His tense expression relaxed and he raised an eyebrow. “Swan, hmm? Interesting choice.”

“Yeah, it’s a—well, it’s a story. Kind of a long one.”

He smiled, the eager, interested smile she remembered so well. “I have time. If you’d care to tell it?”

He got her a drink, a sweet, fizzy one this time laced with just a few drops from his cup of Glowerhaven rum. They stood close together in the darkened corner and he listened intently as she told him about her childhood fondness for the palace swans, their elegant beauty and terrible manners, and how she’d loved reading the tales of the Swan Princess and the fable of the Ugly Duckling, and how her father had taken to calling her his little duckling after she’d demanded he read her that story at bedtime for three months straight.

“So it just seemed appropriate,” she said with a shrug. “Meaningful, but also it doesn’t give anyone a clue as to who I am.”

“And it suits you,” said Killian. “Swan. Beautiful and fearsome, just like you.”

“I’m not fearsome!” she protested, scowling to cover the blush that heated her cheeks when he called her beautiful.

“Aren’t you?” he asked earnestly. “You terrify me.”

“I do? I don’t wish to.”

“I’m sure it’s unintentional,” he said softly. “And more to do with me being timid.”

“You’re not timid,” she scoffed.

“Much less so than I used to be. And yet—” he took her hand and held it to his chest, just above his pounding heart. “You see?”

Emma gulped and her mouth went dry. His chest was firm and the hair on it rough beneath the fabric of his shirt, his hand covering hers so warm.

“Mine’s the same, though,” she whispered, taking his other hand. With hers still on his chest she could feel his sharp inhale and his heart racing even faster when she laid his palm flat over her own frantic heartbeat.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Their eyes locked, his looking dazed and very dark, the colour high on his cheeks and his breaths audibly harsh.

She licked her lips and his eyes followed the movement, his fingers tightening around hers, his hand on her chest sliding up to curl around her neck. He leaned his head down and she tipped her chin up and their lips were barely a breath apart when a crash and a shriek sounded from the kitchen and they both jumped. Killian squeezed his eyes shut, swearing viciously under his breath as he released her hand and neck and stepped away.

“It sounds like things are winding down here,” he said gruffly. “When glassware starts to shatter, that’s your cue to leave. Bit of advice.”

Disappointment tasted bitter, Emma realised. Bitter and crushing and achy and she hated it. She never wished to feel it again. She nodded in response, unable to speak.

They stood silently for a minute, then Killian sighed. “So, um, may I see you home?” he asked, rubbing at his neck again.

She smiled despite herself. “We’re not at court, Killian.”

“Perhaps not, but I’d still like to walk you back.”

“Yeah.” Her smile came more easily with the next attempt. “I’d like that too.”

He kept his hands in his pockets as they walked the short distance to her dorm, but she was acutely aware of him and how near he was and the faint heat she could still feel from his body. When they reached her building he turned to her and smiled.

“Well, Swan, I hope it won’t be another three years until I see you again,” he said.

“It’s a small campus and I’m here until next summer, so I’d guess probably not.” Not if she had anything to say about it, she thought.

“You’re only staying for a year?” he asked.

“It’s all my parents would permit.”

“Ah. I’ve only this year remaining as well, actually, until I graduate.”

“Graduate? But—in three years?”

He shrugged. “I’ve worked hard.”

It was more than that, Emma knew. He was clever and ambitious and determined to make something of himself. To change the world, just as his brother had predicted. She didn’t know the precise circumstances of the Joneses’ life before they found refuge in Misthaven, but from the few hints Commander—now Captain—Jones had dropped they hadn’t had the easiest of beginnings. That they had already made such a success of themselves was deeply impressive, and Emma suspected they were only just getting started.

“Do you—have far to walk to get home?” she asked, a bit wistfully. It was late and she was tired but she didn’t want Killian to go. She wasn’t ready for their time together to end.

“Just to the other side of campus,” he replied. “I’m here on a military training scholarship so I live with the other cadets. When I graduate I’ll join the navy as a lieutenant.”

“Like your brother.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “Possibly even on his ship.”

“That would be amazing.”

“We think so.”

They were standing close again, in a shadowy recess just to the side of the door, and Emma’s heart was pounding, not again but more like still; it had barely rested since she’d laid eyes on Killian. He was looking at her with a gaze so intense she could swear she felt it caress her lips and gods she wanted him to kiss her. If only she had paid more attention to the gossip among the ladies at court, or even to Ruby’s chatter the past two weeks, then she might have at least some idea of how to make that happen. How exactly did one go about letting a man know one wished to be kissed without actually saying ‘please kiss me’? Maybe she should just say it? Or, as the princess, did she need to kiss him first? What was the protocol here? She was royalty damn it, she couldn’t do anything until she knew the protocol.

Instead she just stared at him, feeling hot and itchy and increasingly desperate until he swallowed hard and drew a deep breath, then stepped back. Again.

“Well. I imagine I’ll see you around, then, Swan.”

Don’t go, Emma’s body screamed, even as her mouth said “I hope so.”

He smiled and gave her a small nod, then headed off down the path away from her building, and from her. She watched him go, simmering with frustration. She should have just grabbed him, she thought, and protocol be damned. Grabbed him and kissed him, because damn it she was not going to be able to sleep tonight for wondering what that would feel like, and wishing she didn’t need to wonder.

With an irritated huff she went to the door, taking her keys from her pocket and sorting through them in search of the correct one. She’d just managed to locate it when a warm hand took her by the elbow and tugged her back into the privacy of the shadows.

“What the—” she exclaimed, and then Killian’s lips were on hers. The keys slipped from her fingers and fell unheeded to the ground as her knees went weak and she grasped at his shoulders for support. He walked her back until she was pressed against the wall, his arm firm around her waist and his fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her, soft and slow and deep and gods.

Emma whimpered, clinging to him, yearning for things she couldn’t articulate. His hand flexed against her jaw at the sound and just for a moment he pulled her flush against him, insistent yet so gentle, like he wanted to consume her and also never let her go. Then, ever so softly, he broke the kiss.

“Go out with me,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers and stroking his thumb across her chin.

“Hmmmm?” Emma struggled to think through the spinning in her head and the frantic thrum of her blood. “Go where?”

He chuckled. “Let me take you out to dinner. Tomorrow.”

“Like—a date?”

“Aye, Swan, very much like a date. An actual date, in fact.”

She blushed at the gentle teasing but the butterflies in her belly were performing an elaborate pas-de-deux and she felt like she could fly along with them. “I’d like that,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. Um.” He cleared his throat and stood straight, though his hand remained on her cheek. “I’ll come by here to pick you up. About seven?”

She nodded. “I’m in room 3017. You can call me on the intercom from down here.”

“3017,” he repeated. He stepped back with a swagger in his hips this time, and bit his bottom lip in a way that made her want to drag him up to her room now, no date required.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, love,” he said, his voice dripping with promise, and she smiled.

“Tomorrow.”

“And that’s how it happened.” Emma concludes. “More wine, Captain Jones?” She smiles at Liam who’s gaping at her, slack-jawed. Slowly he inclines his head and pushes his wine glass slightly forward on the table. The three of them are sitting in the small dining area of Emma and Killian’s apartments at the palace, sharing dinner as they fill Liam in on the story of their relationship. As Emma refills his wine glass, Liam turns to Killian and punches him squarely in the shoulder.

“Oi!” Killian cries. “What was that for?”

“I can’t believe you just kissed her like that!” Liam exclaims. “What were you thinking?”

Killian shrugs. “I was thinking I wanted to kiss her.”

“You can’t just up and kiss the princess!” Liam sputters.

“That’s what I was trying to tell myself,” says Killian. “I walked away cursing who she was and reminding myself I had to treat her appropriately, and then I thought but why? If she’d been the normal girl she was pretending to be, I’d have kissed her at the party. So I turned back and, well, you heard the rest.”

“I’m glad he did, too,” says Emma. “It saved me the trouble of hunting him down and kissing him myself. Didn’t help me sleep that night though.” She shoots Killian a saucy look which he returns in kind.

“All right all right, bloody hell,” Liam grumbles. “Could you stop doing that, please?”

“Doing what?” asks Emma innocently.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, brother,” says Killian.

Liam groans and lets his head fall into his hands. “Where’s that wine?” he says.

When dinner is over Liam takes his leave, and Emma offers to walk with him as far as the door to the inner courtyard. They stroll slowly through the wide corridors and Liam waits, knowing she must have something she wishes to say.

“I’m glad you finally know about us.” Emma glances up at him with a rather apologetic smile. “Killian’s been wanting to tell you for ages. He couldn’t say anything at first of course, because no one outside my family and our closest advisers knew I was at the university, but since we began living together he’s felt awful keeping it from you.”

“I understand why he did, though,” Liam replies. “And I’m truly sorry he ever felt that he couldn’t confide in me.” They walk in silence for a few minutes. “Do, er—” he clears his throat. “Do your parents know?”

“They do.”

“And… how do they feel about it?”

“They’re delighted,” says Emma gently, and Liam feels the tension in his shoulders recede.

“Truly?”

“Truly. It was a bit tricky at first, but they adore Killian and they’re happy I’ve chosen someone who will be a true partner to me when I take the throne. They know how essential that is.”

They are approaching the doors to the courtyard, but Emma stops just inside them and turns to face him. “Liam,” she says. “May I call you that?”

“Of course.”

“Liam, I just want you to know that Killian—” Her voice breaks and she blinks rapidly, looking faintly embarrassed. “I—I just—I love him so much,” she chokes out as tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. “Oh, gods I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, lass.” Liam withdraws a crisp handkerchief from his uniform pocket and offers it to her.

“Thank you.” She takes the handkerchief and dabs at her eyes. “I’ve never found it easy to talk about my feelings,” she says once she’s calmer, “and the stronger they are the harder it is. But I need you to know that Killian’s heart is safe with me. As I know mine is with him.”

Liam nods, his chest too tight for the words he wishes he could say. He contents himself with a simple “Thank you.”

Emma smiles and gives him his handkerchief back, squeezing his hand as he takes it. “You’re welcome,” she says. “Brother.”

—

@ohmightydevviepuu @thisonesatellite @kmomof4 @stahlop @darkcolinodonorgasm @katie-dub @teamhook @donteattheappleshook @xhookswenchx @snidgetsafan

#cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #captain duckling #modern captain duckling #cs ff au #modern au #modern royalty #meet cute #college au #brothers jones #love blooms #profdanglaisstuff #mariakov81 #happy birthday masha

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snowbellewells · 5 years ago

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CS Fic Rec Monday: Fics I Loved in 2019/// October - December

So here we are, the last list of 2019 fics! I wasn’t sure I would get them done each week, but I did it! (And I think several of you seemed to enjoy :) Thanks!) I apologize for not having this posted sooner, but everything rebooted just as I was getting nearly done, and I lost my entire post in progress!

Anyway, here we go with the fics from October to the end of the year...

Seeing as how October brought all things a bit spooky and Halloween-y, it seemed only right to start this list out with a fic from the @csrolereversal event that I simply adore: “A House is Never Still” by: @capnjay21 This fic is completely unique and full of such a great blend of mystery, angst, backstory, and thrills that I was completely sucked in from the very first chapter. I’ve gotten woefully behind, as I know there is at least one chapter update I haven’t gotten to read yet, but it is so well-written and creative, you will absolutely be enthralled!

Another awesomely spooky story is “An American Haunting” by: @welllpthisishappening I loved this modern AU take on Emma, Killian, and many of the rest of our OuaT favorites as workers at an American historical village, and their encounter with a very real (and vengefull!) ghost. Plus, there’s plenty of secreative flirting and pining as well, since Emma and Killian like each other, but haven’t yet admitted it. ;)

October also brought us the @cspupstravaganza which allowed us to have several stories starring our pirate and princess alongside various adorable versions of man’s best friend. All of these fics deserve a read, but I especially loved: “Captain Morgan” by: @pirateherokillian, “Twelve Legged Matchmaker” by: @shireness-says, “...between a rock and a bark place” by: @thisonesatellite and “Arm’d with Hell Flames and Fury all at Once” by: @darkcolinodonorgasm.

@profdanglaisstuff also wrote an incredibly funny and irresistible CS with a dog fic (that I thought was part of @cspupstravaganza, but I guess not!) called “Release the Kraken”. This one had me both giggling and melting at the sweetness - don’t miss it!

“Drift” by: @thisonesatellite is a one shot which just blew me away with the emotion and the healing worked into the modern au verse of it. Emma and Killian’s finding each other and slowly connecting and allowing each other to be less alone in the world is just beautiful. I really can’t say enough about how gorgeous and affecting it is. If you missed this one, please do yourself a favor and read it now. <3

“Until the Stars are all Alight” by: @whimsicallyenchantedrose was another excellent AU MC I began to enjoy in these last months of 2019. It was an entry to @cssns19 and mixes together two of my very favorite things: Lord of the Rings and Once Upon a Time in a thrilling crossover. This has questing, romance, angst and adventure in equal measures, and is so well-done all around. It is a WIP, but I have never known Jennifer to leave an MC unfinished, so I know you won’t be disappointed!!

“Not Your (Soul)Mate” by: @let-it-raines probably doesn’t really need my introduction, but just in case you didn’t see the modern AU take on soulmates for the @cssns, definitely read it now! I love how awkwardly humorous the way Emma and Killian’s soulmate status makes itself known (even the two of them definitely do not!) Not only that, but the comic element mixes in real emotion as they try to fight destiny to really make the piece more meaningful. Plus, Killian as a doting uncle is not to be missed either! ;)

Fandom Birthday Playlist by: @searchingwardrobes I did tell you there would be entries from this collection on every list, didn’t I? Melanie really excelled with this mission she set herself - so many engaging and fitting fics for fandom friends, and the three on this list are some of the best yet! You’ll totally fall for Killian as a young minister looking for someone to love him for himself in “Raging Fire”, with Killian and Emma as a young Lieutenant Duckling helping each other through a painful trial in “Burn the Ships”, and with single father Killian and lost amnesiac Emma in “Start of Time”.

“the unexpected life” by: @thisonesatellite An author!Killian/librarian!Killian, adorable Captain Cobra, and a hesitant-but-drawn-to-him Emma -- what more could we really ask for as readers? This story is beautiful and heartwarming and all the good things the best fics are. I love how this Killian and Emma move from acquaintances to friends to loves to eventually a wonderful family with Henry.

“Drink the Wild Air” by: @profdanglaisstuff I just love EF AUs with dashing sailor Killian and young princess Emma, and this gives us that very thing in gorgeous fashion. Both the adventure and the romance are excellent in this one, and though it is still a WIP, you will love and simply devour every bit of it posted so far -- I can almost guarantee it!!

“Four Eyes” by: @welllpthisishappening Oh my goodness, this helping of sweet papa Killian, fighting a bit with admitting he’s aging when he finds out that he needs glasses right along with he and Emma’s little girl, is just beyond perfect! There are references to The Great Gatsby (a sure way into my affections!) an adorably exasperated Emma and lovably realistic fluff galore.

“The Swan of Misthaven” by: @slow-smiles Oh my! This is an EF Captain Duckling AU that will absolutely steal your heart - and in truth the final part of a larger collection of one shots called “My Princess, My Pirate” by this author. They’re all worth reading, and again, I am a little late to the party, so maybe most folks know about this fic already. Still what a thrilling adventure plot - and some great moments of pirate Killian slowly winning over Snow and Charming as they all fight for the princess they love!

“Across the Snowy Places” by: @profdanglaisstuff There truly aren’t enough Thanksgiving fics in this fandom, and that made me love this five part offering all the more. I love the pretend relationship trope and how efficiently Saira uses it here. The pining and the chemistry between Emma and Killian is off the charts and SO well done!! I got such a kick out of the cast of characters she surrounded them with too, and just how amazingly they come together for good in the end!

“Tell Me It’s Real (it’s real)” by: @let-it-raines This one plays with the same trope as the story before it. Best friends Emma and Killian pose as a couple to appease her family over the holidays, but their feelings keep threatening to upset the whole ploy and reveal how much more they both want. Plus, there’s Liam visiting his “little” brother as well as a wonderful rendition of David and MM. The angst and the pining and the steamy moments “for show” just make this one - even before things work into their eventual happy resolution!

“The Perfect Gift” by: @terreisa This is a modern au featuring CS as office co-workers that just charms you from beginning to end! Emma thinks she doesn’t want anything to do with the handsome Brit at the desk next to hers, but after a holiday gift exchange run by meddling matchmaker Mary Margaret, she begins to realize he isn’t who she believed him to be. This is seriously a gift for the reader, and you’ll love every word!! <3

“Hashtag Holiday Party” by: @shireness-says No exaggeration here when I say that I start cackling with laughter whenever I think of this story. Devon does such a great job painting the worst kind of first date at a holiday party and how Emma deals with it. Luckily Killian and Belle are at the same party as well (as friends) and Emma finds that while the date was a bust, the party itself might not have been a waste at all... ;)

“To Keep it All the Year” by: @profdanglaisstuff This story reminds me exactly why I love a good Christmas story - the heart and good will found within it will truly warm your heart. The Killian we meet at the start of this is angry and alone and has nothing left, but then he meets Emma (and Henry) and he begins to see a way forward. I don’t want to spoil all the heart-tugging and glorious moments as the story progresses, but if you missed this around the holidays, please go back and read it now!!

“We Kill the Flame” by: @thisonesatellite Seriously, if you haven’t been reading this WIP futuristic MC, then put down whatever you’re doing, and go start it ASAP! This one will take your breath away with the pulse-pounding action, the high stakes, and the risks Emma and Killian go through for each other and for the tiniest chance at grasping a better life. The whole roster of characters are perfectly cast, and the plot is amazing! So original, so well-done... you won’t even want to blink until you’ve swallowed each chapter whole -- it’s that intensely good!

#cs fic rec monday #csfrm #fics I loved in 2019 #october to december #cs ff #cs fic recs #sorry so late this week!

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thisonesatellite · 4 years ago

Text

Leaving Las Vegas (1/1)

SUMMARY: In a floundering Vegas coffee shop far from the Strip, two broken people find each other.

A little bit of angsty fluff on the way to better days, with a massive dose of Captain Cobra and the occasional sprinkle of comic relief. And a happy end, of course.

Definitely qualifies for the coffee shop trope.

(Fic title permanently borrowed from Mike Figgis and Sheryl Crow. In that order.)

If you want the good formatting, here be it: | AO3 |

A/N: So. Uhm. OK. There i was, in the middle of wrangling the plot boa constrictors of two rather complex MCs, and then this tiny idea - minuscule really - knocked on the door to the thimbleful of brain i had left over and i thought, hey, let me write this oneshot real quick and clear my MC cobwebs.

And then THIS happened.

For the lovely and wonderful @stahlop - because she never got a birthday fic from me, and i am still so sorry about that. i humbly offer you this, ridiculously late though it is. (i mean. What’s 3 months between friends, really?)

LOVE LOVE LOVE & ((((((((HUGS)))))) 💖💖💖

All the thanks -- all of them -- to @profdanglaisstuff, who enables my lunacy every day, and who makes everything i write worth reading. She is the very bestestest. Est. iLY.

Side note to @kmomof4 and @ohmightydevviepuu and @katie-dub -- the Captain Cobra in this is weapons grade. You have been warned. 🤣

And to all of you reading if you live by the word, patiently waiting for the next update, i’m sorry! This oneshot simply would not be denied. But CH10 is coming, i promise. Thank you all for being so lovely. 💖

i’m using the general tag list, i hope that’s OK.

“...it’s such a muddled line between the things you want, and the things you have to do.”

-- Sheryl Crow --

. . .

Robin could fucking hang.

There is a line all the way to the door, and the woman in front of him is tapping her ridiculously long nails hard against the counter (are there palm trees on her nails ?), and the fact that Killian is stuck behind said counter, trying to deal with all of the above is all Robin’s fault, so Robin could fucking hang.

“ Nonfat soy milk,” says the woman with the palm tree nails and Killian puts the carton he just picked up back in its place and grabs the one next to it instead.

Seriously.

Hang .

Two months ago this had sounded like a good idea.

Well, not a good idea exactly.

More like an ultimatum and a bribe to get his act together or else, but still. Right now this moment he would take the worst hangover in the history of alcohol withdrawal over the nail-tapper and the 12 people behind her.

It is at the precise moment when he hands over the nonfat soy latte with a double shot of espresso that his wrist seizes and his useless left hand curls in on itself at a right angle. The pain is so sharp his vision goes grey for a moment and his right hand, the one with the coffee cup in it, starts to shake, and the woman practically rips it out of his grip. She shoves a twenty at him and he can hardly see the register as he tries to ring her up and give her change, and the sounds around him amplify, become a cacophony of voices and laughter and one whining 5-year-old and he nearly screams.

All he can see are blurry colors.

All he can hear is a wall of noise.

He can’t do this.

He looks up at the line of expectant, impatient faces, and then down at his dysfunctional hand, and he’s a second away from telling everyone to get the fuck out when a voice to his left says, “uh, excuse me?”

No, he will fucking not excuse anyone not even waiting in line, probably wanting something extra special, but he does turn.

In front of him is a blonde woman with a baby on her hip. He vaguely recalls her coming in at least two hours ago and getting a cup of tea. He thinks.

“What?” He snaps at her, and she flinches a bit, but stands her ground.

“Sorry,” she says, bouncing the infant a bit. “I just--- do you need some help?”

Oh god yes.

He needs so much help.

But she’s holding a baby. That’s two hands occupied right there.

He’s about to point this out to her when she pulls up one of the high chairs stacked across from the counter and simply deposits the infant in it and then smiles at him.

Smiles like this is no big deal at all.

Her eyes come down to rest on his left hand for a moment and then she looks up.

“How about you take the orders and I make the coffee?”

He can’t answer for a second.

All he can hear is the bell above the entrance, signaling yet another customer.

So much noise.

The woman before him has green eyes, eyes which are steady and calm, and they settle him a bit.

He shrugs. “Do you know how to work the espresso machine?”

She nods, serious. “I do.”

He waves her back behind the counter and then turns to the next customer, a brassy red-head whose 5-year-old is hanging off her arm and wants “a brownie, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease!”

. .

An hour later things are back to calm, everyone has been served, and he turns to the woman behind him who has been cranking out perfect coffee and is now cleaning down the machine.

“Thank you.” He tries to massage his left wrist, get the muscles to loosen up a bit. They don’t.

She nods. “Yeah, well---”

He waits, but she doesn’t finish.

“Why don’t you make yourself a cup of coffee?” he says. “On the house, obviously. You could sit back down and relax until I figure out how to compensate you for helping me out?”

She looks like she’s about to say something, but then she just shrugs and fills a mug with hot water.

“For tea,” she says. “I’m breastfeeding.”

Of course.

Then she walks over to the baby and picks it up.

“You’re being such a good kid,” she says. “Are you getting hungry?”

She turns around and looks at him with large eyes. “I can--- can I feed him here?”

Is she asking him whether she’s allowed to feed her--- Oh.

But that’s ridiculous.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Go and sit down. I’ll bring your cup.” Then he sees the backpack at the bottom of the high chair. “Is this yours?”

She nods, and he loops it around his left arm. It’s heavy.

He follows them to a booth and carefully puts down her tea and her backpack and then goes back behind the counter. As she unbuttons her shirt she gets several disgusted looks and he glares at each misgiving patron until they look away.

. .

The boy is fast asleep in her arms when he finally makes his way back to her. The coffee shop is empty at last.

“Here,” he says, holding out a cushion and a blanket. “They’re from my office. I figure you must be tired holding him all this time.”

“Thank you,” she says with an unmistakable sigh of relief. She gets the baby settled on the bench next to her and shakes out her arms. “He is getting a little heavy.”

He grabs a plate full of baked goods from the counter and puts it in front of her.

“You must be hungry, too,” he says quietly. “I haven’t seen you eat a thing all day.”

She looks up, and it’s suspicious.

He holds up his hands. The left one is curled up like a claw.

“I’m not trying to----” He exhales slowly. “You earned it. And also, my name is Killian. Killian Jones. I should have said that hours ago.”

She smiles. “Emma,” she says. “Emma Swan.” She points at the infant. “And this is Henry.”

“He’s a good boy,” Killian grins. “Didn’t cry once while you saved my life.”

She laughs. “Now I believe you are exaggerating. You would have been fine.”

He’s not telling her about his near meltdown. He is not.

“We’ll agree to disagree on that,” he says instead. “How can I make it up to you, Emma Swan?” He pushes the plate towards her. “Apart from baked goods?”

She studies the tabletop as if formica was the most fascinating thing in the world and shakes her head. When she finally looks up, she’s chewing her lip.

“I was going to ask you for a job when I came in this morning.” She vaguely points towards the HELP WANTED sign in his window. “I just-- I was trying to work up the nerve to ask.”

“Why on earth would you need to work up---- you’re hired.” He laughs. “First of all, you are incredibly hired. And second of all, why would you---”

“I don’t have a sitter for Henry.” Her voice is a whisper. “I don’t have an address.”

“Wait.” She can’t be serious. “Are you telling me you’re---”

“We’ve been staying down on Rosemont,” she says, and he swallows hard. There is a homeless shelter on Rosemont.

“I can’t----” She’s fidgeting. “I can’t leave Henry there, but if I can’t work, I can’t get out of there either.”

Her eyes are glued back to the tabletop.

“That’s OK,” he says. “We can figure something out. Henry can just become the coffee shop’s official mascot. We’ll put him in a playpen in the center---” he points to the middle of the floor--- “make everyone leave their tips with him.”

She laughs. It sounds wobbly.

“He’ll just eat your profits,” she says, her voice not quite steady either. “Literally.”

Her hand comes down on Henry’s belly and she rubs his side.

They sit in silence for long minutes, while her fingers keep rubbing across cheap cotton. When she looks up again, her eyes are shiny.

“Why?” She says. “Why would you do that for us?”

He smiles. “You make a mean latte,” he says. “And you already know your way around.”

She’s silent again while she looks at him, studies him until he nearly squirms.

Then she takes a deep breath and nods. “OK.”

“OK?”

She nods again. “OK.”

. .

She shows up the next day at 7 AM on the dot. She has Henry tied to her front in what looks like a large scarf, and the straps of her backpack are digging grooves into her shoulders. He remembers how heavy it was and nearly makes a joke about her carrying her whole life around when it hits him. That’s what she’s doing. Carrying her whole life around in her backpack.

It probably contains everything she owns.

And then he thinks of what else is on Rosemont and he shivers. That is no place for an infant as tiny as Henry is.

No place for his mother, either.

Fuck.

He chews on how to say it, how to bring it up, almost the whole day. It’s never the right time. Not when he makes her eat a breakfast croissant ( shifts include meals ), or when he hands her a bagel with cream cheese and hot chocolate for lunch ( she likes hot chocolate, with cinnamon ), or when she plays with Henry during their slow times ( there’s nowhere to put the boy, not really, so they have essentially made him a pillow fort with the couch cushions from his office) .

But when he locks up after the last customer and she picks up a broom to help him clean up like she hasn’t just worked 12 hours, he just blurts out, “There’s a room upstairs.”

She looks up, and her eyes narrow.

“It’s an old stockroom.” He can’t get the words out fast enough, now that he’s started. “It’s basically a shoebox with a window, but it has a small bathroom, and I can clear out the boxes, and anyway, you could stay there, you and Henry. If you like.”

She just keeps looking at him with those narrowed eyes, hard as flint. When she finally answers, her voice is low. And just as hard.

“What do I have to do in return?”

Is she angry?

Why is she angry?

He has a room to spare and she needs a place to stay.

“Nothing?” He’s not sure how to answer. “Pay for your own utilities? Once we get your wages sorted?”

Her look is figuring now. But no softer.

“We’d have to figure out a bed for you and one for Henry somehow, but---” He’s squirms. He can feel her stare down to his bones.

“Are you saying you’re offering me a place to stay?” Her voice is as steely as her look. “For free ? No strings attached?” She makes it sound like it was the most indecent--- oh. OH.

He almost smiles, but then, there’s really nothing funny about the situation she’s in at all. And who knows what kinds of propositions she’s had to fend off.

So he meets her gaze and nods.

“Yes,” he says, and doesn’t blink. “I’m offering you a room. No strings attached.”

Her eyes very slowly fill with tears.

“People don’t do that.” It’s a whisper. “People don’t just offer to save your life without wanting something in return. I mean, who does that? Who?”

She looks over at Henry, chewing on a corner of a couch cushion and gurgling happily, and then back at Killian.

“I don’t know what to do.” Her brow furrows, like she’s trying very hard not to cry. “But I can’t take the chance that I’m wrong about you. Henry can’t take the chance that I’m wrong about you.”

He nods, slowly, and doesn’t look away. “You’re not wrong about me, Emma Swan. I’m a guy with a broken hand and a floundering coffee shop and not much else, but I really am just offering you a place to stay. That’s all.”

“Where do you live?”

He knows what she’s asking.

“Not in this building,” he says. “I have an apartment a few blocks from here. You’ll have the place to yourself at night.”

She’s chewing her lip hard. Looks from Killian to Henry and back again several times, and Killian remains silent and simply waits.

In the end she shakes her head with a laugh that sounds like a sob, and she goes and picks up Henry.

“Show us the room,” she says. “We’ll take a look.”

It feels like relief.

-/-

The storeroom is a shoebox. A shoebox full of crates and boxes and a frazzled mop in a broken bucket. It has a window on one side, and a small bathroom with the tiniest shower stall Emma’s ever seen, and it’s perfect.

Oh, she wants this.

She wants this for herself and Henry.

But her insides are at war . This will leave her indebted to her employer. It will give him so much power over her. What if eventually he asks her for something in return? Something she’s not willing to give?

What if she gets used to having a place to stay and a steady source of income and then he threatens to take it all away?

He hasn’t said a word since he unlocked the door for her. The door has a lock. It makes her feel marginally better.

He’s just standing there, silent, rubbing his left wrist and trying to straighten out his hand, his curled-up fingers. It looks like he’s in pain; he flinches occasionally, but doesn’t make a sound. She takes a step forward, ostensibly to get a better look at the room, but really, it’s so he won’t see her eyes fill up with tears again.

She wants this so badly.

Henry gurgles into her shoulder and grabs her shirt collar, making small, happy noises.

“You like it here, don’t you,” she whispers in his ear, and swears that Henry nods. Which is ridiculous. He’s six months old and can just about hold his head up on his own. She kisses his nose and Henry laughs. It’s Emma’s favorite sound.

She turns and looks at Killian standing in the doorway, rubbing his hand and waiting.

“I can clear all this stuff out tomorrow,” he says quietly. “You can stay on the couch in my office tonight if you want. It has a lock, too.”

It would be great if he didn’t read her quite so well. Then again, hers is not a complicated story. Just a difficult one.

“We can maybe get you some furniture at Goodwill,” he goes on. More uncertain now. “I don’t---” He huffs. “We can figure out how to pay for everything.”

It occurs to her that it’s quite possible he cannot afford any of this. That he can barely afford to pay her wages. He did say ‘floundering’ coffee shop, and it might be true. They’re a far cry from the Strip here, on the dirty, bleak side of Vegas, a long way from neon and choreographed waterworks. She doesn’t know anything about his business, doesn’t know anything about him. Except that he needs help.

Just like she does.

Maybe----

And then Henry turns his head and stretches his hand out towards Killian. He looks at the boy, and then at Emma, like he’s asking for permission, and when she gives him a slight nod he smiles and lifts his good hand.

Henry clutches Killian’s index finger and Killian shakes it a bit and Henry squeals with joy and beams , and Emma makes up her mind.

Her son is a great judge of character.

“We’ll take it,” she says, and Killian’s smile widens. “But you don’t have to clear it out by yourself, I’ll help.”

He nods.

“And you’ll take the rent and the furniture and everything else out of my paycheck. You’re paying me too much as it is.”

She is prepared to fight him on this point, but he just smiles and nods again.

“Why do you think I pay you too much?” He asks instead.

“It’s more than minimum wage,” Emma says. “Way more.” Who pays the help ten bucks an hour? It’s ridiculous.

“I believe in paying people what they’re worth, even if the law doesn’t agree with me,” he huffs. “I’d pay you more if I could afford it. People should be able to live on what they earn.”

“Yeah, well – you’re helping with that, too.” She shakes her head. “Why are you doing this?”

He shrugs. “Because I can?”

There is weight underneath that sentence.

The weight of penance.

This is an act of attrition.

“Do you want to stay in my office tonight?” His voice is quiet again. “Or do you need to go back to Rosemont and get your things?”

She points at the backpack at her feet. “I have everything.”

“OK then,” he says, quietly. “Let’s get you sorted.”

. .

The office is basically a desk and a couch and a sink in the corner, but she stops him before he can apologize.

“We’ve been sleeping on a military surplus cot, fifty people to a room.” She puts Henry down on the sofa. “Trust me when I tell you this is better than anything we’ve had in months.”

Henry smiles and stretches out his arms. Killian kneels and tickles the boy’s belly, and Henry beams again.

“I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you,” he says without turning around, his voice low. “But you have a lovely son. He’s happy and well-fed and loved, and for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a phenomenal job. You’ve certainly done better with a hell of a lot more odds stacked against you than I ever did with a free ride.”

He sounds quiet and defeated and his hand stills.

Henry tries to grab his fingers again, and Killian chuckles. “Sorry, lad. Didn’t mean to stop.”

“He likes you.” It’s as big a concession as Emma can think to make. She doesn’t fraternize. She certainly doesn’t like people being overly familiar, not with her, not with her kid.

But – Henry did make the first move.

Killian turns to look at her. His eyes are ridiculously hopeful. “Do you really think so?”

He asks as if this – whether a six-month-old likes him – is important to him. And not as a way to get closer to her, the mother.

As if her kid’s inclination mattered .

God, he’s an odd duck, but none of Emma’s spidey senses are tingling, and so far he has not lied to her once, so she nods.

“Yeah. I really think he does.”

Killian turns back and pats Henry’s belly one more time. “You’re a very good boy,” he says, and then gets up. “I better leave you to it then. Please help yourself to any food in the kitchen fridge. I’m sorry - this blanket is all I have here. I’ll bring you another one tomorrow.” His brow furrows. “Will you be cold?”

“It’s Nevada ,” she says. “We’ll be fine.”

“Good. Here are the keys.” And he simply hands her his whole key ring. To the store. The whole store.

“Here.” He picks up the cash deposit bag and stops in the doorway to hand her a post-it note. “This is my number, just in case you need anything. Please don’t hesitate to call.” And then he smiles and nods at her. ”The place is yours. I’ll be back in the morning.”

She watches him walk all the way across the parking lot and out onto the street.

He doesn’t seem to have a car.

-/-

“Did you two sleep all right in my office?”

“I have an idea.”

They’re setting up for the morning rush, stoneware cups lined up next to the espresso machine and paper ones stacked next to the register. Henry is in his pillow fort corner and Emma is filling the display case with pastries when she turns to him.

He raises both eyebrows.

“Sleep all-- yes, yes, we did.” She smiles. He’s happy to see it. “Thank you again.”

“Not at all,” he says, and pushes his thumb hard into the inside of his left wrist. It hurts a lot today.

“Are you all right?”

Emma’s eyes are on his hands and she has stopped laying out muffins, her brow furrowed. She is going to ask him what’s wrong next, and he cannot have that.

He might tell her.

“Fine,” he grinds out. “What was your idea?”

She throws him a look that says she knows exactly what he’s doing, but she’s letting it go for now.

“You have a full kitchen back there,” she says. “You could make your own pastries. Not all of them, I know that bagels are a whole thing, but--- it can’t be that hard to make muffins. Or scones.” She bites her lip and cringes a bit, like she’s overstepping. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t mean to tell you your business. Just--- it would be cheaper if you made your own, you know? Especially since you have a commercial oven? And--- stuff?”

Dejection surges and immediately turns into anger and takes him completely by surprise. He shoves his thumb into his wrist until he nearly blacks out from the pain, just to stop himself from yelling at her, but he cannot block them out, the fear and the faces, no matter how hard he tries.

Instead he sneers at her.

“And what could I do with a kitchen?” His voice is a hiss. “What do you think?”

She looks down at his hand and then up again. “You could learn,” she whispers, uncertain.

What does she know? What can she possibly know about the things he can and cannot do, about the hundreds of ways he can find to fuck up? About the mess he makes of everything, always, everything he touches? He is so barely keeping his head above water here, just waiting for the next breaker to come and bury him. He wants to scream it out loud, how he can’t, how he can’t , how he’ll never---

he’ll never---

“You could learn,” she repeats, her voice still a whisper. “And--- you have help now? I---” she looks even more uncertain--- “I think I remember some baking things?”

You have help now.

He blinks, slowly.

Takes a deep breath, and another. And another. Then he looks at her, determined and calm even in the face of his----

How strange.

He’s no longer angry.

Instead he feels like he was punched in the gut.

He leans against the counter, tries for nonchalance even though it’s all for support, and sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

She nods, her eyes wide.

“Let’s finish setting up, OK?” He tries to make his voice gentle, nonthreatening.

She nods again, and turns back to her tray of muffins and they work in silence for a few minutes, before he says, “It’s a good idea, Emma. Let me think about it.”

From out of the corner of his eye he can see her smile.

. .

That night they clear out the storeroom. He wants to tell her not to help, because a lot of the boxes are heavy, but he can’t lift them by himself either, not with one hand useless and aching. When Henry gets tired of sitting in the high chair they’ve brought up from the shop, Emma wipes down an empty laundry basket and puts a sofa cushion in it. By the time she covers Henry with the blanket, it looks like a crib, and he can’t help but smile.

She’s definitely resourceful.

The next night he borrows a pickup truck from his neighbor and they go to Goodwill and leave with a bed for Emma and a small table and two chairs. There are no cribs, but she says Henry is fine in the laundry basket for now, and they can figure out something else later. There are lots of baby clothes though, and he insists on buying Henry at least ten onesies. After some prodding she grudgingly buys a few t-shirts and another pair of jeans for herself. She keeps the receipt, because she wants to pay him back every penny.

He doesn’t argue.

He knows she needs this.

The next day she says she has to run an errand during her afternoon break, and for one, long, irrational moment he’s afraid she’ll leave and never come back. They’re gone for almost an hour, and he’s close to panic by the end of it. When they come back he is so relieved he almost hugs her. Especially after she walks right up to him, eyes sparkling, and hands him a brown paper bag.

“This is for you,” she says, smiling.

It’s a cookbook.

A baking book, to be precise.

A basic, simple-recipe baking book for people on a budget.

How he manages not to hug her then, he’ll never know.

-/-

Two days later Emma is woken by a loud crash downstairs, and nearly panics. Her first thought is burglars.

Her second thought is that the only working phone to which she has access is also downstairs. In the office. She makes a mental note to get herself a burner as soon as possible.

Henry is fast asleep in his makeshift laundry basket crib and she stands arrested in the middle of the room, breathing hard, trying not to be afraid, and for a long moment she doesn’t know what to do.

And then she hears it.

Cursing.

Loud, continuous, very vocal cursing. A blue streak in full progress. It’s Killian.

Killian in the kitchen.

She sinks to her knees and laughs out loud in relief.

. .

“What on earth are you doing?”

Emma has put on clothes and made her way downstairs. She sets down the laundry basket with a still quietly sleeping Henry and looks around. The kitchen looks like a war zone.

There are several baking sheets on the floor, as well as a large mixing bowl, the contents of which are splattered across every surface. Including Killian’s hair.

Including Killian’s face.

He wipes his forehead and quirks a self-deprecating brow. “I seem to have dropped some things. Did I wake you up?”

Emma grins. “I thought we were being robbed.”

“Oh.” His smile falls. “I’m so sorry. Were you scared?” He looks at her from under egg-caked eyelashes. “I should have told you. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I was scared,” she admits. “I need to get a phone.”

“You don’t have a---” His eyes widen. “Yes. Today . I didn’t realize--- you have to have a phone. You need to be able to call for help.”

She knows he doesn’t just mean 911.

He’s saying she can call him .

She looks at him and bites her lip and then she smiles. “So, what happened here?”

He shrugs and mumbles, “I happened. Obviously.”

Oh, the baggage that man can pack into one sentence. But that’s a different story, for a different day.

Emma walks over and starts to pick up the baking sheets and the mixing bowl and says, “What were you making?”

He points to the open book on the counter and says, “English scones. They look good and simple and I thought I could get them done by the time we open. Those and maybe some muffins? I found a pan for those.”

She doesn’t say, I’m happy you’ve come around .

She doesn’t say, you should have told me, I could have helped .

She doesn’t ask how the mess happened, or whether his hand hurts, or anything else.

She simply plunks the bowl into the sink and starts to wash up while he wipes down the steel table and then she looks at the recipe book.

“They look yummy,” she says. “And not too complicated. We can definitely get those done before we open.”

And from out of the corner of her eye she can see him smile.

Henry sleeps through all of it.

. .

What follows is a week of long hours. A cheap-ish convention of insurance agents descends on the hotel down the block and they get very, very busy. It’s a lot of revenue, but also a constant stream of customers, and they can hardly keep up.

It’s getting harder to get up early to bake, and Killian begs her to sleep in and let him be, but she’s seen how he fights with his broken hand, and it’s impossible to load the trays and fill the tins and pull hot baking sheets from the oven with just one.

She sees how slow he is during the day, when she has to step away to feed Henry, and it hurts her to hear the snide comments and huffed asides of the patrons. She wishes the nasty ones to hell, the lot of them, never mind the money.

He hears them, she knows he does.

It’s in his face every time she returns to behind the counter, shame and relief, and it makes her so angry, because he should be feeling neither.

They should be ashamed. Like their lives can’t afford one extra minute for their coffee to get made. It’s ridiculous.

. .

Friday afternoon is the worst. The insurance agents are nearly done with their conference and crowding the shop to caffeinate one last time before gearing up for a night on the town. They’re all frat boy energy and hormones on a rampage, not a good color on beer-gutted men circling the shady side of forty, and Henry won’t stop crying.

Emma has fed him twice so he’s not hungry, and she doesn’t know what to do. He usually only cries when he wants food. She’s running ragged pulling espresso shots and trying to run over intermittently to calm Henry down, but he just won’t , and it’s getting harder to ignore the sneers and scoffs about the “lungs on that one”, and suddenly she hears Killian behind her say, “Excuse me, sir, but I think you can get your coffee elsewhere today.”

The shop falls almost completely silent as the burly, balding man in the cheap suit in front of Killian gasps. Killian turns to Emma and says gently, “Don’t worry, love, I got this. Just keep going.”

And then he walks over to her son and picks him up and bounces him a few times and the crying stops . Several people laugh and clap, but Killian doesn’t pay any attention to them, just looks at Henry and talks to him in a low voice, holding him perfectly in his left arm, despite his crooked hand.

Emma nearly starts to cry.

She bites her tongue instead to stem the tears and finishes her orders and Killian walks back behind the counter, still holding Henry, and calmly hands out the cups to everyone but the balding man in the cheap suit. He stares at him instead, silent and unrelenting, until the man turns and leaves along with his colleagues and the shop is once again quiet and empty.

“Emma.” Killian turns to her, patting Henry’s back, his eyes narrow and worried like he can see her exhaustion. “Please, go to my office. Or to your room. Just--- please go lie down. You look ready to collapse.”

And she is. She is ready to collapse, but they’re not done yet and she can’t afford to; but before she can open her mouth, he says, “I’m closing early today. And you’ve done enough.”

He walks over to the front door and locks it and flips the sign closed, all of it with Henry on his arm, his small head on his shoulder, tiny fingers playing with his collar.

She can no longer fight the tears.

“Go,” he says. “Go upstairs and take a shower and lie down for a bit. Henry and I will order some food and talk about manly things. Have a boys’ chat. When the food gets here you can come down and then we’ll have dinner and you’re taking tomorrow off.”

“I can---”

“No, Emma.” His voice is soft. “Whatever it is. You get a day off. And you get some time to yourself. You get to have that.”

The tears are flowing in earnest now, and he hands her a towel and she capitulates.

“OK,” she sniffs, wiping her eyes. “OK.”

He smiles at her, and then looks at Henry. “What do you say, my boy? Want to talk about shaving and baseball? Not that I know anything about baseball.”

She laughs out loud, wobbly as it is.

And she realizes that she doesn’t mind him holding Henry. Not when Henry’s so quiet and content. He really is a good judge of character, her son.

“Go,” he repeats.

“Fine,” she huffs. “But I’m still going to help you bake in the morning.”

He rolls his eyes, but his smile widens. “Is that your final offer?”

She nods.

“Sold,” he says. “You can help me bake, but then you’re taking the day off. No matter how long the line is.”

“Deal,” she says, and turns towards the stairs.

She can hear him talking softly to Henry the entire time she’s upstairs. Can hear Henry laugh and squeal happily in return. Not that she’s listening.

. .

A few weeks later they’re in the café kitchen, up to their elbows in flour and butter.

It’s quiet, early in the mornings, just the two of them. Emma likes it. And there are worse things than starting your day surrounded by the smell of freshly baked muffins and scones.

She’s breaking eggs into a mixing bowl when Henry starts to cry. Killian looks up, always ready to jump into action, and Emma smiles.

“He’s just hungry,” she says, wiping her hands on her apron. “Aren’t you, kid?”

She walks over to the playpen they’ve constructed from milk crates and boxes and zip ties, picks Henry up and settles herself on the couch in the office, just like she always does.

He walks in after her and hands her a clean towel, just like he always does..

They have a routine now.

She thinks of the day she first came into the coffee shop, when he glared at everyone who looked at her sideways for nursing in a public place, and she smiles again.

“What’s so funny?”

He sits down across from her. His voice is soft, like he doesn’t want to disturb them.

Emma watches Henry latch on and then looks up. “I was just thinking of my first day here. You were very nice to me. Brought me tea and let me breastfeed in the middle of your café.”

“Yeah, well, you had just saved me from the lunch rush.”

His voice is still soft, fond, and his eyes shine, and it just slips out.

“What happened to your hand?”

Killian’s entire bearing changes all at once.

His body tenses and his face becomes mask-like, his eyes shuttered, his mouth a thin line, and Emma thinks she could bounce quarters off his shoulders for how rigid they are. His jaw muscles contract and he pushes his thumb hard into his left wrist and then his breathing becomes erratic and Emma says, “Stop! Stop, please, I’m sorry.”

There are tears in his eyes. For anger or sorrow she doesn’t know.

“Please Killian. I’m so sorry.” She’d give anything to take it back now. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business. I’m so sorry I asked.”

And then he looks at her and laughs.

It’s helpless .

He shakes his head.

Takes a deep breath, starts, stops, starts again, stops again. His mouth opens and closes and doesn’t make a sound.

He looks up and chuckles and it sounds like a sob and then he takes another deep breath and meets her eyes. The look he gives her is dejected.

“Oh, Emma,” he says. “It is your business. You should know who you work with. It’s just----” His shoulders slump, the tension leaves his body. He looks small, sad. His eyes wander to Henry, feeding happily, and then back to hers. They’re wet now. “It’s just--- you won’t want to stay once I tell you.”

She looks at him sitting there, guilty, tortured, despondent, and shakes her head. “Why don’t you let me decide?” Henry coughs and she shifts position. “I have seen only good things so far. I’m not sure what you could have done that would make me leave.”

He laughs again and it is bleak and forlorn and she never wants to hear it again, ever.

Not when his normal laugh is so lovely to hear.

She realizes in that moment that his laugh is her second favorite sound.

“You’ll want to leave after this, I am sure of it,” he says and takes another deep breath. “But you deserve to know, so here goes.”

His thumb presses down on his wrist again, the hand curled up tightly at a right angle.

He holds it up for a brief moment. “I wasn’t born with this, you see.”

She nods and murmurs. “I figured.”

He hears it, low as it is. His eyebrows rise. “You figured? How so?”

Emma cringes, but she knows, knows , that she has to be honest with him now. That this is one of these moments where nothing but the truth will do, no matter how painful it may be.

“The way you move,” she says softly. “Like you’re used to having two hands. The way it stresses you out when you can’t--- do things just with one. The way you hide it behind your back when you don’t want people to see. It’s---- it seems recent. Not at all like something you had time to get used to.”

He whistles in awe. “You are a very smart woman, Emma Swan. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I’m not so smart,” she says. “I managed to end up homeless with a newborn. I never even graduated high school. I’m not fast-tracking that Nobel prize just yet.”

He laughs, and this time it’s genuine and Emma was right.

It is her second favorite sound.

And then his laugh fades and his eyes turn serious and he says, “I’m a gambler.”

Emma doesn’t flinch. Just waits.

Killian sighs. “I’m a gambler, and not in a cool, Hollywood movie kind of way.” He looks down, rubs his hand. “I’m an addict. I’ll wager the deed to my house and the change in my pocket and the shirt off my back. As a matter of fact, I have. Wagered all of those, and more. And lost. Everything.”

Henry gurgles and stops drinking and Emma props him up to burp him. Killian doesn’t move at all the entire time, just sits there, his eyes downcast, and it’s heartbreaking.

She gets up and puts Henry in his makeshift crib and then walks over to Killian and kneels before him.

“Tell me,” she says. “You can tell me.”

He blinks and tears start to roll down his cheeks. He makes no move to wipe them away. His eyes are oddly blank. He’s looking somewhere over her left shoulder.

“I went the way all gamblers go.“ He shrugs. “Down.”

He clears his throat.

“Lost my job, my house, my car, all of it. Borrowed money from every one of my friends and lost every last cent of it until I didn’t have any friends left. And then I borrowed money from the wrong people.” He chuckles. If Emma never hears a sound that hopeless again, it’ll be too soon. “Lost that, too, of course. Couldn’t pay them back. Got in deeper and deeper until they decided to teach me a lesson.”

He lifts his left hand briefly.

“They smashed my hand with---- well, it doesn’t matter. Broke it beyond repair.”

He takes another deep breath and shakes his head. “It’s not like I had money for a doctor, anyway. Had to go to a vet. He tried his best, but he couldn’t save it. Not that any part of me deserved saving.”

He falls silent, and Emma can hardly breathe. His guilt and his shame are palpable. He is haunted by these ghosts, tormented by them.

“I don’t believe that,” she finally whispers. “I don’t believe you weren’t worth saving.”

“Oh, but it’s true.” That empty chuckle again. “I wasn’t worth the fucking air I was breathing.”

“What happened then?” Her voice is not working, but again, he hears her.

“I was broke and in pain so I climbed inside a bottle.” He sighs. “Climbed inside a lot of bottles. For weeks. For months. I don’t remember most of it, to be honest. I was couch surfing where I could, spent a lot of days just sitting on bus benches. I overstayed every welcome, until I knocked on Robin’s door.”

“Who’s Robin?” Her voice is a whisper.

Killian smiles the ghost of a smile, still not looking at her. “Robin was--- a last resort. We were mates once. Best mates, really. He was one of the people from whom I borrowed a sizable sum of money, which I neglected to pay back. I swore to myself I was never ever going to see him again, but I was completely out of options. I’d slept on benches for two nights and hadn’t eaten in days. And I was out of rum. So I came here.”

“Here?”

He nods. “This is his coffee shop. Was his coffee shop.” He rubs his wrist again. “Robin took me in and forced me to sober up and made me join Gamblers Anonymous. He gave me a job here at the café, but he wouldn’t give me my wages at first. Just put them into a bank account for me. He let me stay on his couch, didn’t let me out of his sight. Saved my life.” He smiles again, small and wistful. “And then one day two months ago he just hands me the deed to the store and the lease to his apartment and an ATM card with my name on it and says, ‘I’m going back to England. The place is yours. Fuck this up, and no one will ever help you again.’ And then he left.”

Killian looks up and meets Emma’s gaze and tears spring to her eyes from the look in his.

“So there you go. This is the whole ugly truth of it, and I’ve been trying to not fuck it up ever since, but there are days when I wish I’d gone down with the ship.”

And Emma puts her hand on his.

He looks down, and then up at her, and then back down at her hand, covering his, and then he starts to sob.

And Emma puts her arms around him and lets him cry.

-/-

“I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

But the thing is, he does . He has everything to be sorry for, every goddamn thing in this miserable semblance of a life, and especially dumping his fucking problems onto the woman before him, because she has enough to worry about.

And she shouldn’t have to carry his baggage as well.

So he’s stuck in a loop of “I’m sorry” and she’s being so nice about it he can hardly get a hold on himself.

And her hand is so soft on his. It’s so fucking lovely.

And then he says “I’m sorry” again, and she says, “I was in jail when I gave birth to Henry.”

And it stops him cold.

“What?”

She quirks a laconic eyebrow at him and shrugs. “I was in jail. For possession of stolen property.”

She takes his left hand and slowly starts to rub his wrist and he doesn’t think she’s aware of it at all. Her eyes are unfocused, far away, and her fingers feel so good on his aching joints . He can’t speak.

“I liked a boy,” she says. “He was charming and he said wonderful things to me until I was in love. I followed him here.” She rolls her eyes. “I was young and stupid and in love and I didn’t know he was a criminal. Didn’t know he was going to let me take the fall for him when things got dicey, didn’t know I was going to end up pregnant and in jail, so----”

“I’m so sorry.” He means it. Really means it. “And he’s a fucking scumbag, whoever he is.” He really means that, too.

“He’s gone now, that’s all I care about.” Her voice is low. “And he’s never getting his hands on Henry.”

He shudders at the mere thought.

“Definitely not,” he says with vehemence. “Over my dead body.”

She looks at him and smiles. “I do believe you mean that.”

If only she knew.

“I do.” It comes out as a whisper, but he has never meant anything this much in his entire life.

“So you see,” she says, still smiling, “we’ve all made some very bad decisions.” Her fingers are still massaging his wrist, warm and sure and completely unconsciously. “But those don’t matter. It’s what we do afterwards that matters.”

Her eyes narrow. “When did you knock on Robin’s door?”

He has to think for a minute. “Six months ago?”

“Right when Henry was born,” she says, her voice soft. “Right when my life got a new meaning, you decided to save yours.”

“I didn’t---”

“You did.” She sounds sure. Very, very sure. “You say you were out of options, but that’s not true. You could have fallen further. Gone begging on street corners. Slept in shelters. Drowned.” She squeezes his fingers. “But you didn’t. You started to, and then instead of ‘going down with the ship’ you went to the one person who was never going to let you get away with it.” Her eyes are so clear, unblinking. “And you’re here now.” Her smile is brilliant. “Look at you. Look how far you’ve come.”

He can’t speak. Can’t blink. He doesn’t want to squander this gift she is giving him. Redemption and contrition and hope. Hope.

He doesn’t want this moment to end.

She meets his gaze, steady, unwavering, and it feels like everything inside of him shifts . Into the right places. The places they were meant to be.

Then her eyes suddenly widen in surprise and she looks down at their hands.

At what she’s doing.

She starts to pull back and he blurts out, “Please don’t stop.”

She stills.

“Please,” he says again. “It’s--- it feels good.”

And he leans forward to kiss her.

It’s slow, and careful, and tentative, and it takes one, two, three heartbeats - but then she kisses him back.

-/-

She can hear seagulls when she wakes up. It’s now her third favorite sound.

Next to her Killian is breathing evenly and she quietly rolls out of bed, pulls a blanket from the chair, and steps out of the front door to sit on the porch steps.

She can hear the ocean in the distance.

The sky is hazy, the sun slow to rise.

A cup of coffee is put down next to her and he sits down on her other side, sleepy and rumpled and smiling as his hand slowly strokes down her back.

“All right, love?” He says, pulling her against him.

“Good,” she says, kissing the underside of his jaw.

And she is good. The small cottage behind her is the result of thousands of hours of work between them, of nearly four years of all three of them living in the storeroom, of not spending a single penny that could be saved. It’s run down and in desperate need of lots of repairs and even more love, but it’s theirs .

On the other side of the country, far, far away from Las Vegas.

It is a testament to his dedication and her tenacity and the end of a very, very long road.

Or rather, the beginning of a new one.

“I’m sorry you had to wake up without me,” she says quietly. She knows he hates waking alone, but sometimes she needs to think.

“It’s all right,” he says, slides his hand up her neck and gives her a very long kiss. She’s nearly breathless by the time he’s done and he whispers, “You can make it up to me later.”

She smiles. “Keep this up and I’ll make it up to you right here right now.”

He laughs and kisses her again until they’re both breathless.

“When do you have to be at work?”

“In an hour,” he says, frowning. “Two freighters coming in today. I may have to do overtime.”

She nods. “Don’t work too hard.” He always does. Like he wants to prove himself, constantly. Like he needs to show everyone that he is not as broken as his past, as his limb.

She starts to rub his wrist and he sighs.

“Try not to be home too late,” she says. “Henry’s class trip is today, and you know how he loves to tell you about the Big Fish.”

He chuckles. “And maybe one day he’ll hear me when I tell him dolphins aren’t fish.”

She laughs. “He’s only six. Give him a minute.”

He stills. Takes several deep breaths, like he’s gearing up to say something, but nothing comes. She waits. He’s been doing that often throughout the past few months, more often now that they’ve settled into their own home, but she can’t bring herself to push. He’ll tell her in his own time.

She can feel him breathing, feel his chest rising and falling, and then suddenly he says, “Do you think it’s hard for him?”

She sits up and turns to look at him. “Hard for whom?”

Killian fidgets and looks down, but she’ll have none of that. She gently lifts his chin and says, “What do you mean?”

He gives her a small smile and god, it’s so vulnerable. “Henry,” he says. “Do you think it’s hard for him, not knowing his father?”

To think that he thinks that. That he believes that. Tears spring to her eyes.

“You’re his father,” she says, with all the conviction she can possibly muster. “ You are. Never doubt that.” She grabs the front of his shirt in both fists. “Never ever doubt that.”

His eyes grow large and very shiny and she leans over to kiss him, hard .

When they pull apart she leans her forehead against his and they stay like that for long moments.

She kisses him again before she pulls back and then studies his face, his open expression and his soft eyes and the fact that he couldn’t hide what he’s feeling if he tried, and she says, “I think it’s time.”

His eyes grow even larger and she feels his good hand wander down to her belly.

“Are you sure?” It’s a whisper.

She closes her eyes for a moment.

Listens to the seagulls.

“Yes,” she says. And means it.

He looks at her, eyes shining, and smiles, wide and carefree and happy. And then he kisses her again.

Thank you all for reading! 💖💖💖

#cs fic #cs fic rec #thisonesatellite #leaving las vegas #oneshot #a bit of fluffy angst #and a happy end #coffee shop AU #trope-a-palooza

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years ago

Text

Start of Time: 9/9

Here it is! The end of this journey! This has always been a gift for @teamhook, and my dear, I hope this ending brightens your day after all you have been through! I always knew this was where it would lead, with these exact bits of dialogue inspired by the song by Gabrielle Aplin that you shared with me. I even incorporated some lines from the song into the closing scene for you. Sending you lots of love, my friend!

Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is? Written for @teamhook on her birthday.

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this fic and Alice and Henry are both Killian’s adopted children with Milah. Henry isn’t Emma’s. Positive past Millian. No Neal.

Words: about 3k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4@jennjenn615 @kday426 @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree@whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @distant-rose@shireness-says @xhookswenchx @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @branlovestowrite @welllpthisishappening @stahlop @hollyethecurious @ekr032-blog-blog @scientificapricot @wellhellotragic @vvbooklady1256 @sherlockianwhovian @superchocovian @nikkiemms @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @ohmakemeahercules

It was awkwardly silent in the elevator. Honestly, it had been awkwardly silent the majority of the time between her and Walsh ever since she got home. Yet it seemed to hang even heavier between them since the doctor’s appointment earlier.

The elevator stopped at her floor, and the ding when the doors opened only punctuated the silence. Emma dug in her purse for her keys, and wished like every other time Walsh rode up with her how to politely send him away. He hadn’t pushed her for anything physical - mostly. He just whined like an oversized baby about it, constantly asking her when things would get back to normal.

In that sense, today’s appointment was almost a relief.

“Well, thanks for walking me up,” Emma told him as she grasped her keys.

Walsh gave her a smile that he must have thought was charming. It wasn’t.

“Come on now, Emma, you can’t let your fiance in for a few minutes?”

She pressed her hand firmly to his chest as he leaned in. “You’re not my fiance.”

“Of course I am. You just don’t remember.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, first of all, you heard the doctor today. Chances are, I won’t ever remember.”

“Chances is the word. You heard him, there’s always a chance. Especially if I jog your memory.”

He went to put his arms around her, and for the first time, Emma had to shove him off. It sent her heart beating erratically, and not in a pleasant way. It also sent anger flaring through her veins.

“God, do you even listen to me?” she shouted. She had tried so hard since she got back to New York to cooperate, hoping that following the lead of Walsh and Regina would bring her memories rushing back. Now she was sick of it.

“Actually I do,” Walsh snapped, “which is why I know you aren’t even trying to remember.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You act like I’m doing this on purpose. And no, you don’t listen, because I wasn’t finished. Second, I don’t have a ring, Walsh.” Emma waved her hand in front of him.

“People don’t need a ring to get engaged.”

“I also listened to your message,” she bit out. “You proposed, but I never accepted. You may not need a ring, genius, but the girl has to actually say yes.”

“You didn’t say no.”

“Well, I am now.”

Walsh blinked. “Emma, seriously, this isn’t you.”

“No Walsh, it is me! Maybe this whole experience has changed me, maybe I’ll never fully remember who I was before, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have always been hesitant to marry you.” Emma pressed her fist, still clutching her keys, to her chest. “I know you and Regina keep treating me like a wounded puppy, but I do remember some things clearly. I was getting away to Maine because I was stressed and confused. I was unsure of so many things, including us.”

Walsh’s face fell, as if he were finally beginning to understand. “But I thought we were so good together.”

Emma was able to smile at him. She stepped closer, and laid a hand on his arm. “You were comfortable - safe. Being with you didn’t risk my heart because my feelings were on the surface. Your proposal brought all of that into focus.”

“So what you’re saying is, you were always going to say no.”

Emma nodded, truly feeling sorry for Walsh for the first time. “I’m so sorry. I don’t remember our first date or how we met, but I do remember that.”

Walsh nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping. He gave her a platonic hug, and Emma accepted it. Then he walked away from her, and when the elevator doors closed behind him, Emma sagged with relief against her door.

The phone in her jacket pocket vibrated, and she pulled it out to see text messages from her bandmates pop up one after another.

How did the appointment go? - Elsa

Did the doctor have good news? Are you getting your memories back? I’m dying with worry here! - Anna

Calling to check on you. And don’t take this the wrong way, but have you dumped Walsh yet? - Ruby

I wanna hear more about this hot vet you were snowed in with. And don’t tell me he wasn’t hot, I can read between the lines. - Ruby

Emma smiled as she scrolled through the messages. It was strange the way a brain injury worked. The moment she walked through her front door and saw her three best friends waiting for her, memories had flooded her. She didn’t remember anything but confusing feelings where Walsh was concerned, she couldn’t remember this supposed solo career Regina kept going on about, but she did remember these three amazing women. She couldn’t remember performing, but memories had returned of the times they spent together both on the road and before they hit it big. She also remembered the words to every single one of their songs. The doctor had explained to her that the brain was a complex organ. His theory was that she had retained her emotional memories, but not the details of her life.

Bizarre didn’t begin to cover it.

Emma locked the door behind her, toed off her shoes, and dropped her keys in the catch all by the door. She collapsed onto a couch that was too hard in a room that was too cold. The view of the city skyline outside her window seemed foreign. With a sigh, she moved to her bedroom, shooting off texts to her friends as she went. She slipped into a pair of comfortable pajamas, collapsed onto her bed, and grabbed the tv remote.

This was apparently her life, and she simply had no idea what to do with it.

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

“Checkmate!” Liam crowed with satisfaction, but his face fell when he looked across the chess board to find Killian staring absently at the chess pieces. “Little brother? I beat you. Again.”

Killian sighed and knocked over some of the pieces in frustration. “Sorry. I guess I’m just not in the mood tonight.”

Liam frowned. “This is still about Wendy, isn’t it?”

“Emma,” Killian corrected him as he ran a hand wearily down his face, “her name is actually Emma. Emma Swan.” His hand dropped to his lap, and he studied his brother warily. “And please spare me the I told you so.”

Liam leaned back, both hands lifted in the air in surrender. “I’m not going to say that, trust me. This is a situation where I hate being right.”

Killian arched a brow. “My brother? Hates being right? Who are you and what have you done to my real brother?”

“Haha, very funny. Seriously though, I liked her. I liked how happy you were when she was here. If the situation had been different -”

Killian cut him off. “But it wasn’t. She has a life, a career, a fiance somewhere else. God, I was such a fool.”

“No, you weren’t. You were generous in offering your home to her. I was wrong, Killian. You did the right thing. I can’t believe I was so callous towards her.”

Killian drummed his fingers on the table as he regarded Liam. “You never seem to realize what an ass you’re being to the women in my life until it’s too late.”

Liam leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fisted hands. “With Milah, you’re right. When you adopted Henry, I still gave her hell. I worried a child was just another novelty to her. But then she was such a wonderful mother, then you got Alice, and . . . .”

Liam trailed off with a long sigh. Killian’s brow furrowed in shock.

“I thought you didn’t soften towards her until she got sick. Why didn’t you say anything? Try to mend things with her?”

“You know how bloody stubborn I am. I’m sorry, Killian, I would do it all differently if I had the chance.”

“I know.” Killian could never stay angry at his brother for long. He loved him too much.

“Besides, who says it's too late with Wendy - I mean Emma. She may be missing you just as much as you’re missing her.”

Killian absentmindedly picked up a pawn and twirled it between his fingers. “Doubtful. She’s a bloody rock star, for God’s sake.”

“The kids miss her too, don’t they?” “Aye.”

“She said she’d keep in touch.”

“People always say that. Then they never do.”

“Give her time. None of this can be easy.”

Killian was about to counter that Emma had no reason to think of them now that her memories had most likely returned, but before he could, there was a knock at the door. He gave his brother a confused look. It was late, and the kids were already asleep. Who could possibly be knocking? He hurried to the door, looked through the keyhole, then swore under his breath to find the view blocked by greenery. Alice had made a wreath for the door, and he couldn’t see a damn thing past her handiwork. He wrenched the door open, expecting it to be a local farmer with a livestock emergency.

It wasn’t a farmer.

“Emma,” he breathed in awe.

She smiled, and it was like the sun came out.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you call me that.”

Killian chuckled as he scratched behind his ear. “Well, I’m a bit embarrassed that I didn’t

recognize you. Let’s just say it’s mostly Radio Disney around here. And something about K-Pop which I don’t really -”

“I was never engaged,” Emma blurted out.

“Oh?”

Emma twisted her hands nervously and shrugged. “He proposed, but I never accepted.” She trailed off, her gaze darting to her feet. “It felt important for you to know that.”

“There’s no need to explain,” he told her gently. “I’m just glad you’re getting your memories back.”

“I’m not,” she said, her gaze flying back to lock on his.

“What do you mean?”

She bit on her lower lip. “I mean, I don’t have my memories back. I remember bits and pieces, feelings mostly.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Look, there’s something I just gotta say, alright?”

Killian nodded. He’d been sort of speechless anyway since he opened the door.

She licked her lips nervously before plunging in. “The doctors say I might never get my memories back. Not all of them, anyway. But I’m okay with that because what little I remember either isn’t that great or it’s fantastic.” She winced as she closed her eyes for a second. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“Not yet,” he admitted, “but I’m still listening.”

She returned his smile with a wobbly one of her own. “Right. So, I remember that I was a foster kid. I must have been since I was a baby because that’s all I remember. I don’t remember any of the places I lived or who I lived with. All I remember is that I never had a home.”

His heart broke for her and the sheen of tears in her eyes, but he didn't interrupt.

“I remember I ran away all the time. I just figured that when you really have a home, when you leave, you just miss it. So my whole childhood, I just kept running waiting to feel that, but I never did. Then I found my band. And I got to keep running, on the road you know? But it was okay because my family was running with me. I think that’s why they’re the only people I remember. Except -”

She paused, and a look of fear flashed over her face. He took a step closer and took her hand. “Except?” he prompted.

“Except you. And the kids.” She winced again, shaking her head and laughing. “Not that I wouldn’t remember you, I mean I met you after. What I’m trying to say is . . . I miss you. When I left here, I missed it all so much. My band - the people in it - were home, but that was ending. And then I met you - and Alice and Henry. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s like my life got a reset that day you found me. I want to start time, right here. With you.”

Killian searched her face, scarcely daring to believe this was real. He reached up with a shaking hand and traced her jaw with his finger.

“What about your career?” he asked softly. The last thing he wanted was to take advantage of her while she was in a vulnerable place.

She smiled at him as a single tear slipped down her face. “I never wanted that career. I loved the band - the people, I mean. But not the performing or the limelight. I just want to play and write songs on my guitar. I can do that anywhere.”

He let hope expand his heart for the first time. He cupped her face with both hands, catching her tear with his thumb.

“Stay with me?” he asked her.

Emma’s eyes crinkled at the force of her smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Killian bent slowly to press his lips to hers in a tender kiss. She sighed and tilted her head, allowing him more access. He threaded his fingers through her soft hair as his tongue lazily explored her mouth. Emma pulled back and smiled with such blinding happiness, he could hardly take it in. Then her eyes fluttered closed, and she captured his lips again. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He never wanted to let her go.

I'm an atom in a sea of nothing, looking for another to combine. Maybe we could be the start of something. Be together at the start of time.

Rolling Stone Magazine - Two Years Later:

. . . The Grammy’s this year brought one big surprise: Emma Swan Jones, former member of the female rock band Wendy Sewed it On, took home the Song of the Year award for penning Ruby Lucas’s number one smash hit “The Song in Your Heart.” The romantic power ballad was a slight departure for the normally angst-filled alternative rock Swan-Jones was known for when she was part of Wendy Sewed it On. Yet her new hyphenated last name along with her acceptance speech may give her fans a hint for the change. In her speech, she thanked “my true love, my husband Killian. Words can’t say enough how much you mean to me or how you’ve inspired me. I wouldn’t have this award without you, babe.” Judging by the baby bump she was proudly showing off beneath her Elie Saab couture gown on the red carpet, Emma Swan Jones is very happy with her man which may mean more romantic ballads from her in the future . . .

#cs ff #cs modern au #snowed in #start of time #daddy killian #amnesia #knightrook #angst #pining #for teamhook

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ohmightydevviepuu · 4 years ago

Text

the red queen [1/1]

to @profdanglaisstuff for the suggestion; to @katie-dub for the gut-check and encouragement; to @thisonesatellite for existing.

happy (belated) birthday to a beloved friend. i feel so lucky that we have found each other.

this is a continuation of my space pirates AU, sanguine, adj. ‘hopeful’. (it also means bloody). if the earlier parts were a premise pilot...think of this as a procedural. shamelessly inspired by “the train job” (firefly 1x02) and “the three-card monte job” (leverage 3x09), because i think i am hilarious (sometimes) and i have a writing crush on john rogers.

proximity alert cell block 1138 a good day

AO3

The man was tall and dark. Broody type, scruffy-looking, but he walked into the bar like he owned it. Slid onto a barstool, let the length of his battered greatcoat hang behind him and looked around with piercing blue eyes that missed nothing. Within two seconds he was followed by a woman, tall and broad, beautiful with black hair that curled and hung nearly to her waist, just above the gun she kept holstered there. Their movements had the ease of old reflex: he walked ahead, ready to encounter whatever might come at them first. She stayed close, but behind, ready to watch his back.

The bartender eyed them warily, watched the man’s gaze take in everything. He turned to the woman and asked, “What’ll you have?”

“Whisky,” she said. “Straight.”

He turned to the man and repeated the question.

“Actually, mate,” the man said, with a wink directed not at the bartender but squarely at the vidcam placed over the bartender’s shoulder. “Is it okay if I just sit here until a gorgeous blonde walks in?”

Will Scarlet spit out his drink, drops splattering on the commscreen in front of him.

Where he was watching them, of course. No way was he letting that cheeky asshole off coms or off cams again. Ever.

Ursula snorted.

The bartender rolled his eyes. “Whatever you want, mate,” he said, pulling a bottle from the counter to pour Ursula’s drink. She threw an extra couple of credits on the bartop and shook her head in commiseration.

But the door opened and in walked an objectively good-looking blonde woman. Her hair was shorter than Ursula’s, a bit awkward really, not that Will knew anything about women’s hair, but it was still closer to Federation regulation-length than anything else and it was tied back in the sort of tight tail that the Feds encouraged for anyone with long hair.

She had green eyes and she stopped when the man’s landed on her, cocking her head and smirking.

“You’re kidding me,” Will muttered, taking another sip of his drink. “Smug bastard.”

“Hello, beautiful,” the man said. The woman stepped up to the bar and the man took her hand in his, bending over it to place a kiss in her palm. “Captain Killian Jones, at your service. Can I offer you a drink?”

The bartender’s jaw dropped.

Ursula shook her head and took another sip of whisky, ignoring the scene playing out next to her.

The woman’s eyes glittered. “Listen, Jones--”

“I prefer ‘Captain’,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I bet you do,” she murmured, leaning closer to him until her head was just above his ear. “Touch me again, Captain, and I’ll have you arrested for assault.”

“Is that a threat?”

The woman brushed her red leather jacket so the flash of metal at her hip gleamed and Will saw the bartender take notice. “It’s a promise.”

So did every other patron of the bar.

“Dammit, Killian,” Will groused.

Emma Swan turned and, with a wink of her own, nodded at Will in the camera. The bartender poured her a shot and turned back to the Captain.

Emma drank off the shot and left.

Will exhaled.

“How’s it going?” Robin Locksley walked up behind him, taking a seat in the co-pilot’s chair of the cockpit.

“You know, the usual,” Will muttered.

“Oh god, oh god, we’re all gonna die?” Robin smiled.

“Not yet,” Will said. “Give it time.”

Killian Jones, Captain, looked at the bartender. “A shot of rum, if you please,” he said, and the bartender sighed. Killian was fiddling with something in his hand as he fumbled for the requisite credits and then all of the blood seemed to drain from his face as he went very still, and very pale.

Next to him, Ursula tensed. Reflex.

She looked quickly to the camera and shook her head and Will drew in a deep breath.

“What’s up?” Rob asked, leaning toward him.

“Dunno.” Will shrugged. “Nothing good. You had to go and jinx it.”

From the end of the bar there was a sound.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

It was slow. It was the dripping water of a faucet.

Killian’s jaw muscle twitched and he turned.

The man had long hair, down to his chin in waves, run through with silver. His moustache and beard framed his mouth and tapered off at the sides.

He had piercing blue eyes.

“Hello, Dad,” Killian said.

Will was silent, his mouth hanging open. Next to him, Robin was still.

Emma’s voice crackled over the comm. “Did he just say--”

“Fuck,” Will said.

“Hello, dad,” Killian said, keeping his voice calm but feeling the twitch in his jaw and the itch in his fingers. He willed himself to be still, to look the man square in the eye for the first time in--

“I got a out, you know,” Brennan Jones said. “A while ago, in fact.”

Twenty years.

That’s how long it had been since his father left.

“Didn’t see you, though, at the prison colony spaceport waiting to pick me up in that fancy ship of yours,” Brennan said.

Twenty years since Brennan had left, twelve years since he had got caught running cons and games on rich marks on the central planets. The Federation, as Killian knew only two well, did not take kindly to larceny and thieving unless they were the ones doing both and Brennan had been caught, tried--and shipped off to ‘Neverland’.

They said it was a place where time stood still for its inmates, stuck while the world passed them by.

Twenty years.

“Yeah,” Killian said. “Yeah, I was kind of busy. Visiting my mother’s grave, you know. Visiting Liam’s grave.”

Brennan clucked his tongue in a noise that made Killian cringe. A noise that haunted his dreams on his bad nights, of his father’s disapproval, his indifference. Killian hated that noise and hated even more that it still held sway over him.

“All your life,” Brennan said, “you thought you were better than me. Never showed any respect.”

“What, exactly, did you do to deserve respect?” Killian said.

Twenty years, but Brennan still knew about the Jolly Roger, knew where to find him, knew exactly what buttons to push and strings to pull to make Captain Killian Jones feel like an angry child.

What else did he know?

Brennan turned to Ursula and said, with a tip of his head in affected gallantry, “Would you give us a moment? I’d like to talk to my son, here. My good-form, never-break-the-rules-son. Look at him now, yeah? Nothing but his own personal balls-and-bayonets brigade, living off the raggedy edge on the wrong side of the law. Nothing but a pirate, a criminal like his old man.”

Ursula ignored him, looked at Killian. Killian nodded. “Head back. We still have a job to do.”

His hand tightened around the crinkled piece of paper Emma had passed him.

The one with the name of their contact on this job.

Brennan Jones.

He thought of her and he tried to summon the feel of her fingers against his skin as if it would give him strength or hope or succor.

Maybe it did. Ursula’s eyes were black stones of judgment as Killian ran his hand through his hair and met her gaze and then, finally, she nodded.

“Pleasure meeting you,” Brennan called to her retreating back. “Now, about that job--”

“Run it,” Killian growled, his voice low and weary.

Emma looked around the cockpit, from Will to Robin to Nemo to Ursula and even to Ariel, who fidgeted visibly, more uncomfortable than Emma had ever seen her.

Whale stood off to the side, his arms crossed, shaking his head.

“Maybe we should discuss it first,” Emma said. “I know I feel a little weird--”

It was more than weird. It was downright uncomfortable. For the first time since she’d stayed with Killian, with the Jolly Roger and its crew, she was unsettled.

(Former) Federation Operative Emma Swan did not do unsettled.

“I don’t.” Killian bit down on the consonants, hard, each one clipped and harsh and as if they were spoken by a stranger. “Come on, Scarlet.”

“Sir--”

“Killian, sometimes you just need to stop and question--” Emma and Will spoke at the same time but then he stopped and looked at her. Emma took a breath and said, “Sometimes you just need to stop and think for a minute--”

“What is this, mutiny? An insurrection?” His eyes hardened. “Don’t ever tell me what to do on my--” Emma hissed, a warning, and Killian took a deep breath. “It’s a job like any other.”

If keystrokes could have emotions, Will’s were angry.

“Stop looking at him as my father,” Killian said.

“Can you?” Emma asked, walking up to him and putting her hand on his cheek.

He jerked away.

“But this isn’t, as you say, a ‘job like any other’,” Nemo pointed out. He was the only one in the galley who looked relaxed, his posture upright as always but with an air of ease that Emma desperately wished she felt. “And not because of who he is. Because of why he’s here.” Nemo gestured at the screen Will had projected on the wall and turned toward Emma. “What’s your professional opinion here, Operative Swan?”

Will had brought up a list of the charges against Brennan Jones: theft, fraud, bribery, smuggling, all across multiple systems.

Child endangerment.

Child abandonment.

Emma looked at Killian.

Killian looked away.

“No way he’s out of Neverland after only twelve years,” Emma said. “So--” her eyes were still on Killian “--trap?”

“Aye,” he said. His eyes flashed with relief and his jaw muscle relaxed. “Set up by someone else to do the dirty work. Blackmail, maybe. That’s how a lot of the big syndicates do things now. Quasi-government entities, some of them. Don’t want the dirty work putting them on the Feds’ radar and interfering with their legit scams. Keeps the blood off their hands.”

“So what’s Brennan’s game here, Captain?” Ursula asked.

Robin scrubbed a hand down his face and drew in a deep breath. “I imagine he’s got a chess board set up just like yours, sir.”

Killian’s answering look was murderous. “More like three-card monte. Keep the cards moving until he’s ready for you to see the queen.”

“Nah, he’s the one on the move.” Will turned around in his chair.

“How in the bloody hell do you know that?” Killian snapped.

“Facial scan, sir.” Will glared. “I tagged him and put my web-crawlers to work on the Cortex. And he just got a call. Sounds like he’s got sources planted across the world, and this one’s tapped into a Fed outpost. Core access across the entire sector, including SOS, maintenance, alarms. Brennan’s pushing him to tamper with it, cross the signals or some such.” Will squinted at his screen and crossed his hands behind his neck. “Your dad, he is not a nice man, is he? Must run in the family.”

The galley was, for one interminable moment, silent.

Robin smacked Will across the back of his head.

“Captain? What’s our play?” Ursula asked.

“Um, I have a question?” Ariel raised her hand. Emma stifled a laugh, and Ursula sighed. “If Brennan did all of these terrible things, blackmail and the like, why did he come here and hire us? If he’s so bad--”

“--what are they using against him,” Emma finished. “Against us. You.” Everything Killian cared about--was here. On the ship.

It was Nemo who answered. “This is about Liam?”

“Isn’t he--” Robin started to say, but stopped.

Dead. Liam Jones was dead, killed in the operation that Killian had fled with the Jewel of the Realm.

Slowly, minutely, Killian nodded.

“You think someone has your little brother?” Nemo spoke slowly in a soothing tone, as if for a small child.

Whale nearly fell over. “The hell--?”

Emma felt her mouth open. She closed it.

Unsettled. She did not like it. She did not like not having all of the information queued up and ready for her and this was something she should have known.

Something Killian should have told her.

A quick glance around the galley suggested that she was not the only one for whom this news was a revelation. She looked at Ursula, who blinked in surprise and looked at Will, who shrugged and looked at Robin, who shook his head. In unison, they all turned to look at Nemo.

“Younger,” Killian corrected him softly, almost as a reflex. “Aye.”

Nemo had eyes only for Killian, his eyes full of care and concern and quiet authority.

“Killian,” Nemo said. “It’s not your job to take down your own father.”

Emma took two steps across the galley and reached for Killian again.

This time, he did not pull away.

“You’re right about that,” Killian said. “It’s my gorram pleasure.”

His fingers tightened around Emma’s until she couldn’t feel them anymore.

“Killian, I don’t think we have enough information on your fa--on this guy. Not yet,” Emma said.

There were other things she could say. Maybe too many other things.

How Brennan had found them.

Killian’s younger brother, Liam Jones.

What Nemo knew that she didn’t.

But she didn’t say any of them. Not yet.

They stood out on the pavement in the middle of the city, or near enough--a city that was just big enough to boast the kind of multi-level skyscraper that was normally more prevalent across the Core worlds, but not so big that any of the buildings were in particularly good repair. They stood in the middle of a fair bit of traffic--pedestrians, land speeders, even personal shuttles buzzing in the sky for the gentry who wanted to show off, but not so much or so little that the five of them and their two Mules were memorable.

Emma, Killian, Ursula, Ariel and Robin stood in front of a building rendered completely invisible by virtue of its resemblance to every other building.

“We don’t even know if this is the right place,” Emma said.

Will’s snort made the earpiece crackle and Emma winced.

“I’m sure,” Will said. There was a beep in the background and Will’s voice was serious this time. “Okay, I think I may have an ID on a potential bad guy.”

“We’ve got the bad guy, Scarlet,” Killian said.

Which was part of the problem, as far as Emma was concerned. Brennan had backup and Killian’s instincts seemed to come from a pretty deep gene pool and that made Brennan one very dangerous guy with potentially more dangerous allies. Emma looked at Ursula, who shrugged.

Ursula was always going to back Killian’s play; well, so would Emma.

“Whatever you say, sir, but this guy Jefferson Chepalier has an interesting story to tell. They say he’s some kind of magician, just making things disappear from one place and appear in another. Weapons, credits, pharmaceuticals--you name it, he’s moved it.”

Nemo’s voice chimed in. “I’ve heard of him. Even the Federation is one of his clients.”

Robin’s eyebrows went up in silent admiration and Emma sighed. “I’ve heard of him, too,” she said. “He knows a lot of the right people in a lot of the right places.”

What did Nemo know?

Why hadn’t Killian told them?

Why hadn’t Killian told her?

“Well, seems like they had a bit of an ugly breakup,” Will said. “Busted last month and lost twenty million in merchandise.”

“Sounds like the kind of guy who could get someone out of Neverland,” Emma said.

“Sounds like the kind of guy who needs a big score,” Robin said. “Guys that desperate--”

“Yeah, it’s bad,” Emma agreed.

“Speaking of bad,” Will said. “Here’s some bad news: the system here is old-school. Too antiquated for me to tunnel in and hack.”

Emma rolled her shoulders and moved her neck from one side to the other. But this was nothing they hadn’t expected.

“I didn’t know some of these specs even existed anymore.” Will sounded offended, as though he expected more from his adversaries. “Getting into this would be like hacking a museum exhibit.”

“Which you’ve done,” Robin said.

“Nothing you can prove,” Will said. “In fact--”

Ariel giggled.

“In fact,” Killian interrupted, “it means we’re not going to able to stop him.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It means we’re going to have to help him. Just like he planned.”

“We’re on it,” Ursula said as Emma pulled a pair of cuffs out of her inner jacket pocket and stepped toward Robin.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Will said. “You just--happened to have those on you?”

Emma rolled her eyes.

“Do you always have those on you?” Will asked. “Because--” he paused, presumably watching Emma put the cuffs on Robin “--you are weirdly comfortable doing that.”

“Don’t I know it,” Killian muttered.

Ariel’s mouth dropped open.

“Ariel.” Ursula brought her back to focus. “You’re going in the back. Hook us in manually.”

“And Scarlet,” Emma said, “you keep your mouth shut unless you want me giving Belle pointers when she gets back from Persephone.”

There was an intake of breath over the comm and Killian said, “Shut up, Scarlet.”

“Okay, but--” Robin was resigned as the cuffs clinked into place “--what are we doing here, exactly?”

“All the alarms for the entire Andromache system run through this building,” Will said. “Banks. Private homes. Government systems. Transpo networks. Everything. My guess, Brennan wants to control which alarms get through and which don’t.”

“It’s what I would do,” Killian said. He did not look happy about it.

“It isn’t,” Emma said. “You wouldn’t have gotten us here in the first place.” She wanted to reach for him, to take his hand, to press a soothing palm against his cheek. But she had Robin Locksley in her handcuffs and, apparently, the fate of Killian’s heretofore-unknown younger brother in their hands.

Killian didn’t answer. Didn’t look at any of them, just stared upward at the facade of the building they were about to infiltrate.

“Sir?” Ursula prompted. “We don’t have to do this.”

“We’re the only ones who can,” he said. “Anchors aweigh.”

Emma looked at Ursula, who nodded and gave Robin a shove as they went through the doors.

Not only was (former) Federation Operative Emma Swan weirdly comfortable using handcuffs, Robin Locksley was weirdly okay about being cuffed. The whole thing was really weird, Will decided.

At least until--

“Can we hurry up? Being handcuffed in a Fed outpost is a recurring bloody nightmare of mine.”

Never mind, Will thought.

“Scarlet,” Ursula said. “How do we look?”

Will tapped a few keys and leaned forward to peer at the screen. “We will rule over all of this land,” he said. “And we will call it--’This Land’.”

Ariel chirped, “That’s a good thing, right? We’re shiny?” She was breathing slightly heavily from inside a crawlspace, where she had physically tapped the network while Emma, Ursula and Robin distracted the Feds.

“Means we’re tapped into every piece of wire and tech running through that place. We can block alarms, we can set alarms, we can track alarms, all through our own comms network. Nice work--very shiny.”

Ariel clapped her hands in glee.

“Now get the bloody hell out of there--”

The comms broke squelch with a burst of feedback so sharp Will had to shut down the system for eighty-three seconds.

And Killian, that rat bastard, did it on purpose.

Urusla’s voice was the first to break through when he got them back online. “Scarlet?” She was, as ever, sharp and focused. “Where is he?”

“He’s gone,” Emma said, sounding certain.

“Seriously?” Robin said.

“He’s gone,” Will confirmed.

“So,” Killian said, “let me tell you what I did.”

He was back in the bar, where Brennan Jones did not seem at all surprised to see him. Papers were spread out across a table in the corner and the bartender kept deliberately not looking their way.

Brennan smirked. “Oh, I already know what you did,” he said. “You let my repairman loose, fine. You think I don’t have another contact? You really think you can beat me? You’re not tough enough. You’re not ruthless enough. You don’t have what it takes, even with your interference--”

“Using a civilian was a dumb brute-force move.” Killian pulled his earpiece out of his ear and a small black box out of his pocket and held them up. “Rigged to the Fed systems. I control it now. I can destroy it. You were saying?”

“Well.” Brennan looked, for the first time, surprised. “That’s--well.”

“You’ve done your homework. You know that I stole the fastest ship in the fleet right out from under the Federation’s nose, so you should also know that I broke into Robert Gold’s space station and broke back out again. Severed his hold on the Federation council. Walked away after he tortured me. If I can do that, imagine what I could to you.”

All of that was true and yet--it had been easier to be tough in front of Gold than it was in front of his own father. He’d been doing that for Emma.

He wished she was here.

They were better as a team.

But she didn’t need to be a part of this. Not this. Killian didn’t want Brennan Jones even looking at her. More importantly, he didn’t want Brennan’s allies--whomever they were--knowing who she was.

“I did my homework too, dad. Where’s Liam?”

Brennan cleared his throat. “You’re being a wise guy with me?”

“What was it you used to say? ‘You’re too much of a planner, Killian. You have to be tougher to survive’. You’re so tough, prove it.”

Besides, Killian Jones always had a plan.

Behind him, Killian heard the sound of an old-fashioned revolver being cocked. He was, for a second, disappointed.

So predictable.

He looked around, started to turn--

Was stopped by an elbow to the back of his head.

After that, blackness.

“How long until we hit Paradiso?” Killian asked.

The train whipped through the countryside on the mag-lev track and Emma checked the map on her screen. “Another twenty minutes,” she said. “You should be at the foothills in five.”

“You’re sure?” Robin asked for the twentieth time. “You’re sure this was the plan?”

“He’s sure,” Emma and Ursula spoke at the same time, for all that Ursula was down on the train with Killian and Emma was in the cockpit of the Jolly Roger.

She wanted to be with him.

They were better as a team.

But that wasn’t the plan, and she was part of something now--part of a crew.

“Saw the maps,” Killian reminded them. “Had blueprints laid out for house party on Boros--some gentry have got a Lassiter there.”

“I’ve always wanted one of those,” Ariel said wistfully.

“Next time,” Killian said. For the first time in days Emma thought she detected a smile in his words. “And then there was a set for a hospital on Athens,” Killian said.

“Too much work. Not enough payoff,” Nemo murmured.

“Exactly,” Killian said.

“Three-card monte,” Emma said. “He wanted you to see.”

“Exactly,” Killian said again, and smiled this time.

“What’s the cargo?” Ursula wanted to know.

“No clue,” Killian said. “But since Chepelier was there--save the speech for later, Scarlet--I’d reckon it’s something that will get him his twenty mil back. And I’ll have some words for him about hitting me when we meet.”

“Something that requires an entire Fedsquad sitting on this train,” Ursula said.

“Not an entire squad, Ursula,” Killian said. “Just a few. Just enough to make it fun.”

“When those alarms go off,” Emma said, “it’s gonna be Armageddon.”

“That’s the idea, love,” Killian reminded her.

“Yeah,” Emma said. “Only I think you have a bit of a problem with your brain being missing.” She paused for a beat and then said, seriously, “Killian, it’s not too late to sit this one out.”

Behind her, Emma felt Nemo’s hand on her shoulder. He squeezed.

Killian didn’t answer. He said, “Start flying with the hatch open. Keep her steady, Locksley.”

There were no guards in the train car, just stacks of crates and baggage. Killian went in first and Urusla followed, sliding the door mostly shut behind them but leaving it slightly ajar as Ursula turned to fiddle with a canister she pulled from her satchel and the wires hidden in the door panel. Killian moved toward the center of the car, waiting for Ursula to hand him the screw gun.

He stopped and examined a particular stack of crates and then began to climb them, gently, stopping when he could reach the ceiling. Three corrugated iron panels stood between them and the open sky and soon there was not even that, as Killian put the gun to one of the rivets in the center panel and triggered it.

It made a sickening noise and Killian winced.

“Find the cargo,” he said.

“Thanks for the reminder, sir,” Ursula said.

Killian smirked and pulled the gun down, removing the rivet stuck in it before starting on the next, moving methodically from one to another until the last one is free and he lowered the panel as gently as the could.

It made a bit of a clatter, and Killian winced.

“Sir--” Ursula called, pointing at a stack of boxes.

“Shiny,” Killian whispered. “Brilliant. Get it over here.”

He had barely finished speaking when the net dropped into the hole in the roof of the train.

“Fifteen seconds,” Emma said.

The canister popped just when the wire pulled.

Immediately, there was a ringing noise that echoed through the train car.

“Alarms are set,” Scarlet said, his voice grim. “Feds on your door and Brennan--”

“I’ll worry about Brennan,” Killian said as the door opened fully and the gas released by Ursula’s canister blinded the Fed sent to investigate. With movements both precise and brutal, Killian disarmed him and had him on the ground, unconscious, in seconds.

He and Ursula closed the door behind them just as the comm started blaring and the train began to slow as they pulled into Paradiso.

Brennan Jones walked up to the makeshift processing site outside of Paradiso.

It was utter chaos.

Every person around him was screaming into a comm. “What do you mean, we’ve got another alarm call--a third one?!!--multiple code ones at the following sites--roll out--send backup--every available unit!”

It was the house party full of gentry on Boros that sweetened the deal. Feds wouldn’t normally roll out for a bunch of hicks coming in from Hancock. Alarms going off on Boros, on Athens, across Regina--that was a different story.

All hail the might Federation, though it was a shame about the Lassiter. That would fetch a tidy fortune on the black market.

Next time.

(Former) Federation Operative Emma Swan walked into the makeshift processing site the locals had set up outside Paradiso.

Where the train had stopped.

After some thieves put a hole in the roof.

It was utter chaos, every person around her screaming into a comm, Feds literally walking in circles--

Except for the poor, understaffed local constabulary, who had been left to deal with the passengers.

Killian and Ursula were off to the side, cuffed and under the watchful eyes of someone who looked like a local sheriff. He looked tired, and frustrated--was likely both of those things, now the Feds were off the train and in his backyard--and did not manage to keep his sigh inaudible as she approached.

Emma flashed her badge fast enough that the lawman wouldn’t be able to get a good look at the code designation that was now invalid. She gave him a half-grin as she did so, carefully calculated.

Empathetic. Brisk. Efficient.

Not here to ruin his day.

She was here to save it, in fact, but he had no way of knowing that.

“You Nolan?” she asked, and he gave her a wan smile. “I’m Swan.”

Brennan watched the scene playing out before him.

“No, I can’t send confirmation,” a particularly harried ensign snapped. “This is an all-network alert! Cargo theft--”

Brennan hovered genially near the harried-looking ensign, a petite woman with her hair tied in a regulation-style knot, and smile the kind of smile that was warm enough but completely unmemorable as he waved a datapad in the air with a kind of ‘what can you do’ shrug.

The ensign barely spared him a glance before waving him away, his presence already accounted for and forgotten, and Brennan inched closer to the train, where he was met by a tall blonde man in a uniform who asked, bored, “Status?”

Brennan handed the datasheet over, a transfer order flickering across its surface.

“You’re expecting me,” Brennan said. “Evidence transfer.”

“That’s right, you bastard,” Will muttered at his tablet. “Captain, are you sure--”

“You know the plan, Will.”

“We could just tell the Feds--”

“Oh, I’ve got him,” Killian said. “Gonna look him in the eye when he goes down.”

“Evidence transfer,” the blonde man said, frowning as he looked at the datasheet. “About that--”

He stopped as Ariel, her hair out of its knot, came up behind Brennan Jones, tapped him on the shoulder, and punched him.

Victor Whale pulled off his uniform cap and winced. Ariel was tiny, but she packed a right hook like a freight train.

“Ooooooof,” Will murmured.

Emma thought she heard the sheriff mutter about gorram time but not loud enough she had to acknowledge it. “You know there’s a whole spate of robberies across the system today,” she said casually. “Alarms going off anywhere.”

Implied: you’re lucky I showed up at all.

“Rumor has it they were after millions,” Nolan said. “You here for evidence holding?”

Emma only just managed to keep the sneer off of her face.

“Evidence holding”. That’s what the Feds were calling it now.

Emma shrugged. “Above my paygrade. I’m just here for those two.” She nodded with her chin at Ursula and Killian.

“I knew something about his story smelled,” he said, shaking his head and checking his datapad for the passenger manifest.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Emma said, sending a surreptitious wink toward Killian. “It’s not the only thing about him that does.”

In her earpiece she heard him chuckle.

“They’ve been bound?”

“Not yet,” Nolan said. “I--”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emma said. “You just get the rest of these citizens back on this train and on their way. I’ll take care of them.”

Ariel shrugged and ducked as Brennan made a pass at Whale and she pulled out a tranq gun--

“That’s enough, Ariel,” Killian said, walking up behind them, a cuff dangling from one wrist while he worked the other free. “It’s going to end right here, dad. You ready? Let me tell you what I did.”

“How did you know?” Brennan looked--bemused.

Almost impressed.

Killian reached into his greatcoat pocket and removed a small black box wired to an earpiece.

“Let’s try this one more time, shall we?”

“What’s the trick to three-card monte?” Killian asked, advancing on his father. “The red queen’s never even on the table. But it was a nice move, dad, knocking me out. Letting me deduce your plan. I didn’t even need this--” he held up the black box, pulled from his pocket “--to get inside your head. And all the time, you’re playing me. Playing my crew.”

Ursula, Ariel and Whale stood behind him and Will laughed at the screen. Big damn heroes.

“You tried to make me a pawn in your game. You tried to make Liam a pawn in your game. But here’s the thing, dad: you’re only a pawn if you don’t know you’re being played. And I always know. You taught me that.”

“Twenty million is a lot of money, Killian,” Brennan said.

Killian exhaled a laugh through his nostrils. “It’s not about the money. It never was. You’re not working for Jefferson Chepelier. You’re working around him, trying to get the bigger score. Get his merchandise to a better buyer, the kind of buyer who will pay top dollar and let you sail off into the black forever. A buyer like Cora Hart.”

Brennan stilled and Killian smiled.

“My people are going to take down Chepelier and Cora Hart. We have your cargo. What was it you always used to say?” Killian’s mouth contorted as he imitated his father’s voice. “‘You’re too much of a planner, son.’”

Killian leaned forward, his hands resting on his belt.

“The cargo is already on the way to a contact of ours,” he said. “Because if you’d done your planning, father, you’d have known that I have certain understandings in place between my crew and the Federation Council. And Regina Mills. You’ve heard of her, right? Cora Hart’s daughter? She was thrilled to get her hands on this kind of leverage against Cora.”

“What about your brother?”

“What about him? He was never in danger, not from you, and not from Chepelier,” Killian said. “Just another jack being shuffled--a distraction--but he’s safe. Far away from you and now with the protection of a pirate--” Killian bit the word “--and a Federation Councillor. You’re never getting near him again, and any minute now, the Feds are gonna come and--”

“--arrest both of us,” Brennan said.

“What for?” Killian held up his still-cuffed wrist. “I’ve sent the cargo on already and I have an alibi.”

“I’m not going back to Neverland,” Brennan said.

“That’s fine.” KIllian pulled a gun from his jacket pocket. Ariel made a sound like a sad cat, mewl. Whale swore under his breath.

“You can’t do this,” Brennan said, and chuckled. “I could, but you’re your mother’s son.”

Killian cocked the gun at the exact second Ursula said, simply, “Sir?”

And he looked at her.

Looked at Ariel, at Whale.

Looked up into the camera and Will sighed.

“Let him go, Killian,” he heard Emma whisper. “I’ve got your back. We’ve got your back.”

Killian hesitated; his hand shook and Emma wished so desperately she could take it in hers, put her thumb against his wrist and press a gentle, calming circle there.

“Killian,” Emma said, “be a better man than your father.”

Brennan Jones stood at the edge of the station along the train tracks but the train had, literally, already left the station.

Emma Swan walked toward him with Nemo keeping stride, Sheriff Nolan walking ahead of them both.

“Brennan Jones,” Nolan drawled, “you are bound by law.”

Brennan’s eyes widened in startled recognition as he looked at Emma and he smiled.

“Am I though?” he laughed. “Am I really? Check your codes again, Sheriff. She’s not a Fed, or whatever she says she is--she’s a thief.”

“Ran it twice,” Nolan said. “She’s clear.”

“Go ahead, Sheriff,” Nemo said. “One more time. We don’t mind. Authorization code one-zero-two-six. Scorpio.”

With a put-upon shrug Nolan swiped across the datapad and held it up. Federation Operative Emma Swan flashed across the screen with a photo and an arrest warrant. Emma enjoyed watching him as it hit him, the blood draining from his face and his tongue darting out to lick his lip. Brennan ran a hand through his hair in a gesture uncannily like Killian.

“Looks like you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in quite the robbery, Mr. Jones,” Sheriff Nolan said. “I’ve got orders here to put you in custody and send you back to--” his eyes widened and he clucked his tongue against his teeth as he shook his head “--Neverland. Well.”

“I didn’t do it,” Brennan said, pointing a finger at Emma. “I’m innocent.”

Emma rolled her eyes dramatically and shared a smirk with the sheriff. “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Everyone’s innocent in Neverland.”

“Sheriff,” Brennan was pleading. “She’s not who she says she is. She’s a--”

Nemo grabbed his arm and twisted it, making Brennan wince.

“My own son,” Brennan said. “More ruthless than me. Crueler than me.” His eyes hardened and something unpleasant glittered in his irises. “You tell my son,” he muttered. “You tell my him--”

Emma turned away, waving at Nolan to step forward with the cuffs.

“--tell him I’m proud of him.”

Emma turned back. “Enjoy Neverland.”

Killian exhaled as he turned the ship’s wheel, piloting the Jolly Roger out of orbit and closer to the surface of Persephone. Emma stood behind him, looking out the cockpit windshield. The sun was setting and it refracted through the atmo.

“Well, that’s a joyful sight,” Killian muttered, looking up at Emma.

“Gotta love a sunset,” she sighed.

“That too,” he said. And winked.

“Almost like coming home,” Emma said, her fingers scratching and lazy at the back of his neck. He shivered.

Home.

She was his home. This was his family.

“We sniff the air,” he reminded her. “We don’t kiss the dirt.”

“Noted, Captain,” she said. “But I wasn’t planning on the dirt-kissing. Sir.”

“I wouldn’t stand for it anyways,” Killian said. He locked the wheel into place and pushed back in his seat, smiling up at her the entire time as lightness rushed through his body. “Jealous man like me.”

“Hey--eyes front, please,” Robin said, walking in and making a face. “Planet’s coming up a mite fast. You’re coming down too quick. Likely gonna crash and kill us all.”

Killian stood up and pulled Emma’s hand into his. His eyes never left hers.

“That happens,” he said to Robin, “let me know.”

“Hey,” Emma whispered, pushing the fringe off of Killian’s forehead as he opened one bleary, sleepy eye and stared at her. They were a tangle of limbs and sheets in the berth. “You were some kind of hero today, Jones.”

He nuzzled into her hand and wrapped her more tightly against him. “Mmmmm.”

It was not agreement.

“Trust me, you have a mark in the hero column,” Emma said, bending so her lips brushed against his ear. “Killian?”

“Mmmm?”

“Will you tell me about him, someday?” Killian’s eyes opened, both of them, and he stared at her in surprise. “Your younger brother?”

He stilled and then exhaled, a brush of warmth against her palm. “Aye, love. Someday. But not today, yeah?”

Emma snuggled herself against him, dropping her head to his shoulder. “Someday,” she agreed.

They had all the time in the world.

--30--

@quirkykayleetam

#cs fic #space pirates #firefly #also leverage #because who doesnt love a con and a heist

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