#he knows killian would rather die than hurt this family

[thepirateandhisson]

- Once Upon a Time, 6x06 “Dark Waters” 

Happy Father’s Day to Killian Jones from his step-son Henry, who has unending faith in him.

[elizabeethan]

Rising Tide

An Overboard Addition

The decision to travel to the Outer Banks to follow the Bluefin Tuna fishing season through the winter was an easy one, only once Emma had suggested that they go together. Even after three years of marriage, he still couldn’t imagine being apart from her for more than a week, never mind an entire winter season. But when Emma found out about the extended season down south, thanks to the blasted television show out of Massachusetts, she insisted that they take part, together.

Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them.

A/N: I wrote this because I felt like I was being too mean to Mary Margaret and decided to spread the wealth.

For @the-darkdragonfly​ for keeping my enthusiasm for this series alive, and for being the best beta around.

Rated M

Catch up Here

Read my other stuff

Get on my tag list

Read on Ao3

~~~~

There are too many people on this bloody boat. 

 Killian’s fishing vessel has comfortably held himself, his wife, and his two crew members on countless occasions, but something has shifted with the addition of a fifth person. 

 Or, perhaps, it’s the fact that his crew members have been traded for Emma’s entire family. Plus, there’s their dog. 

 The decision to travel to the Outer Banks to follow the Bluefin Tuna fishing season through the winter was an easy one, only once Emma had suggested that they go together. Even after three years of marriage, he still couldn’t imagine being apart from her for more than a week, never mind an entire winter season. But when Emma found out about the extended season down south, thanks to the blasted television show out of Massachusetts, she insisted that they take part, together. 

 Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them. 

 Leo has just turned 21, and is, according to his sister, soul searching. Emma claims that he isn’t sure what he’s doing with his life, what with his decision not to attend college and his struggles to find a steady job. She thought that maybe helping Killian this season would also help Leo, perhaps exposing some passion for fishing he never knew he had. But of course, Leo has never fished before, so his father is tagging along to make matters easier and safer. And why not throw Mary Margaret into the mix too… the more the merrier. 

 At least that’s what Killian thought until they all got onto his bloody boat and shoved off.

 It really isn’t meant for five people. Plus a dog the size of a miniature horse. 

Emma enjoys sunning herself on the bow, even in the winter, and Killian enjoys watching her. What he doesn’t enjoy is the quick and judging looks he gets from her father and the snickering and giggling from her mother each time he’s caught. He doesn’t enjoy the groaning and eye rolling he gets from Leo each time he kisses his wife, seen because of the painful lack of privacy on this bloody boat. 

 The whole journey down was near torture. Emma and Killian have grown accustomed to a certain amount of privacy, as well as a certain amount of pleasure for each of them. Everyone says the honeymoon phase will fade, and yet it hasn’t for them. Everyone also says that he will soon struggle to keep up with the energy of his much younger wife, and yet he has not experienced such a thing. 

 Killian’s always been a private person, preferring to love his wife in seclusion. At least when it’s Will and Robin on the boat, he can tell them to shove off if they’re caught in some unsavory position. But when her father does, Killian nearly jumps overboard. 

 It takes them about a day to sail into Wanchese, the harbor almost as accommodating as the one back home. They’re friendly here, but he can’t help but get a sense of competition burning between himself and the southern fishermen. Killian’s never been much for competition, but David is. 

 He says something cheeky and mildly ominous to the others in the fleet, something about catching the most tonnage this season despite not being from down here, and Killian stiffens beneath Emma’s hand on his back. She leaves warmth between his shoulder blades where he always seems to be stiff. 

 “It’s alright,” she says as she kisses his shoulder over his sweater, pressing up onto her toes. “It’ll be fun.”

 “The season down here is short,” he explains, though she already knows. “But I have a feeling it’ll feel quite long.”

 She hums and laughs, kissing him once more and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind him as he pulls away from the docks. When he hears her mother’s voice cooing at Ripple, “look at your mommy and daddy over there,” he stiffens again. 

 It’ll be a long season. 

 ~~~~

 He’s only glad for the hotel room that her parents have rented. 

 Leo’s still on the boat, of course, acting as Killian’s first mate, but he can handle that for the evenings. Leo does well preparing the lines and fishing for bait, and he tries to see the upside as Emma serves him spaghetti for the fourth night in a row and he realizes that they once again won’t have any privacy. 

 “Thank you, love,” he says softly to her as she hands him the floppy paper plate. “Smells delicious.”

 She snorts, shaking her head as she takes a seat beside him on the bow. It’s become a favorite spot for them; a place where they can unwind together, make love to each other, console each other’s demons. “Don’t lie,” she says, bumping their shoulders together. “I’m a shitty cook anyway, never mind on the water.”

 “You’re a brilliant cook.”

 “Yes,” she laughs, nodding and twirling her fork in the flaccid pasta. “My recipe for peanut butter and jelly is award winning.”

 “Aye, well, I do like when you sprinkle the potato chips in them.” 

 “That’s because we’re both eight-years-old.” 

 He leans towards her, securing his plate in his lap so that he can press a lingering kiss against her temple. “I should hope not,” he jokes. 

 They sit quietly for a while, enjoying the dinner she made for them despite her complaints that it’s mushy and watching the sunset. It’s beautiful here, he has to admit, and he can’t help but appreciate the way the pink sky bounces off of the sea and into his wife’s hair. 

 “It’ll be fine, you know,” she says softly, her lips pressing to his neck. “It’s only a few weeks, and I don’t even think they’ll come out most weeks.”

 “Aye, love,” he murmurs into the top of her head. “You know I’m not upset about this, right?” 

 “Yeah, but I can tell you’re not completely comfortable either. I mean, my parents--”

 “Emma,” he interrupts, although he doesn’t like to. He takes her face in his hands and gives her a smile. “I love your parents because I love you. I can handle a few weeks with them.”

 “You promise you won’t gaff them if they mess up your boat?” 

 He laughs, if only to remove the image of such a violent proposition from his mind, and nods. “I promise, my love.”

 ~~~~

 Things start turning south after a few weeks on the water, her parents, just as Emma had predicted, only making a few appearances. David was helpful enough teaching Leo the ropes, and he’s become an invaluable member of Killian’s crew. Now that he’s trained quite thoroughly, David and Mary Margaret have taken the opportunity to explore the Outer Banks. 

 Only today, they’re out on the boat, along for the ride since Killian suggested a shorter trip just past the sound. It was hard enough crossing the bar with Emma’s father’s watchful eye on him, and now that they've made it to deep enough waters, his anxiety is at an all time high. 

 Killian is a talented sailor. He knows this, and he also knows that he’s a talented fisherman. He’s earned himself a rather suitable fortune in his years catching tuna, and he maintains that he knows what he’s doing. And yet, having an audience-- especially one that seems to still be waiting for the other shoe to drop-- is making him entirely doubt himself. They’re waiting for their daughter to get hurt, either by him or because of him. He’s waiting for the doubt he has in himself to fade, and yet it never seems to unless Emma forces it away. 

 He would never hurt her. He would die if anything ever happened to her, especially if it was at his hands. If he were ever involved in any pain delivered to her, he isn’t sure how he would survive the guilt and anguish that would result. 

 Which is why he’s been so careful the entire trip, and each time she’s on his boat with him. He failed at his attempts to make her wear a lifejacket-- So what, you think I can’t swim? I’m a better swimmer than you, probably-- but he tries to take every other precaution. He’s even trained Ripple to bark when she sees a large wave incoming so that they can take cover. He keeps knives stashed around the boat so that he can cut any rogue line or rope, should anyone get tangled. He keeps lifepreservers as well, one on each corner despite the boat being small enough to reach one easily. Every sharp object has a home, a designated place to avoid accidents. He captains a very safe vessel any day, but when Emma and their Ripple are on board, it’s like his senses are heightened. 

 Which is why he watches her like a hawk each day, but especially now that her parents are on board. He just knows that one misstep will have them staring him down, judging his ability to care for their daughter, silently gaining confirmation that their marriage won’t make it. He knows it’s dramatic, and not entirely true, but he can’t help but fear that they think of him as too old for her. He’s not energetic enough; he can’t keep up with her needs. He can’t provide her with the life that she deserves. 

 They’ve talked about this, of course. But the reminders keep coming with her parents’ looks towards him, so his self-doubt flourishes. 

 They’ve only just hooked up when it happens. Leo is reeling-- he’s doing phenomenally as he works with the waves in an effort to drag the beast to them-- and Killian is driving. David stands at the helm with Leo, telling Killian when to go into reverse and when to go into neutral, when to turn left and when to turn right. They’ve almost brought the thing to the port of the vessel, and Emma stands diligently with a gaff ready to assist however she can. Killian can’t stop staring. Not only because she looks beautiful and strong, but because he worries for her too much. 

 He notices the rope on the ground quickly after it falls, calling to David to move it despite his distraction with the strained line. He kicks it away, a loop forming easily as he does so. He shouts once more, desperately as he watches Emma take a step to her left, and panics when he isn’t heard. 

 “Emma!” he calls from the wheel, turning towards her but unable to abandon steering the craft for fear of disaster. “Love, your--”

 She starts to trip as David throws the harpoon, the line tightening around her ankle and pulling at her leg until she has to drop to the deck. Killian abandons his post easily, rushing towards her and shoving against David with too much force so that he can grab for a blade and cut her free. 

 She falls forward into his arms, her gasp coming out forcefully as she seems to piece together what’s almost happened as the adrenaline wears off. 

 “Woah,” she breathes, squeezing his hand in hers as he helps her to straighten. 

 “Are you--” 

 “The line!” David calls. “It’s-- Emma?” He hurries towards them both, finally abandoning the tool as Leo cuts the beast free and does the same and crouches by her side. “What happened?”

 A sudden wave of disgust washes over him as an equally powerful wave from the sea crashes into his beloved boat. With the force of it, with his wife safe in his arms, he realizes he couldn’t possibly care less what happens to his fishing vessel as long as she’s alright. 

 “She nearly went overboard,” he spits. “Did you not hear me? Or were you too busy with the bloody harpoon?”

 “Obviously I didn’t hear you,” he argues. “But I don’t need you blaming me when your equipment doesn’t work. This harpoon line is way too long.”

 He breathes out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head and staring up at David. “Oh, so this is my fault? You aren’t watching your lines and nearly get your daughter killed and somehow it’s my fault?”

 “Babe,” she starts, putting her hand on his, but he’s too angry and worked up and terrified. 

 “No, I'm sick of this,” he says. He hears Ripple finally bursting out of the cabin after far too many attempts to break free, and she hurries towards Emma, towards her mother, to lick her cheek. Emma giggles and cuddles with the pup, seeming to allow her breath to finally even. “Every chance you get, it’s a dig at my ability to keep my wife safe. And when I-- when your Captain orders you to move a bloody line away from her damn foot--”

 “Killian!” 

 He can’t even respond, can’t do anything but take a heaving breath in hopes that it will calm him. He knows what she’s thinking-- that she wishes he would stop yelling at her bloody father-- but he can’t shake the feelings of rage coursing through him. 

 “I’m sorry,” he finally mumbles, finally able to turn his head and look her in the eye. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

 She takes his hand and squeezes once more, nearly forcing him to maintain eye contact, and says, “I’m fine, babe. I’m okay.” he tries to ignore the discomfort written across her father’s entire being. “Let’s just go below deck and you can check my ankle, okay?” 

 “Is it hurting you?”

 She blinks once and says, “It’s a little sore. Come on.” 

 They aren’t even able to shut themselves in before she tugs on his arm, dragging him close to her and wrapping him in a squeeze that he swears could kill him if it wasn’t exactly what he needs. It’s not as if she was dragged over the bow-- it’s not as if the rope truly cinched around her ankle and dragged her overboard, beneath the surface of the deadly crashing waves-- but she came pretty damn close. And now, as he comes down from the high of adrenaline of nearly losing his wife, his best friend, the most important thing in his life, he cracks. 

 He can barely breathe as his palms reach to cup her cheeks, if only to ensure that they’re still warm and pink and alive. He chokes when he has her in his grasp, his brows pinching together almost painfully and his teeth digging into the soft flesh of his bottom lip, likely drawing blood. “Love,” he stutters, his voice weak and small, and he nearly loses his balance as another wave crashes into them. She keeps him steady. “I almost--”

 “No,” she insists. “I know, baby, but you didn’t. I’m right here, Killian. I’m not going anywhere.”

 When his eyes meet hers, he says desperately, “I can’t lose you.”

 “You won’t,” she tells him with such certainty that he has no choice but to believe her. “Killian, I'm right here. I’m here with you, and I’m okay. You’re not gonna lose me.” 

 He shakes his head, and when he does, she creeps closer to him on the small captain's bed until her hips can straddle his thighs. His hands find her waist, unable to do anything but hold her and try to convince himself that she’s here and she’s fine. He didn’t lose her, although he almost did. The sea has given so much to him, but it’s also taken. It took his brother, or so he must only assume, and it almost took the love of his life. He knows now, now that it’s been proven to him, that he would gladly give himself to the sea if she took his wife. “Emma, my love…”

 She hardly gives him a chance to answer, although part of him thinks she knows that he had nothing to say. Her lips cut him off, pressing to his and destroying any thoughts of negativity or anger or fear. They fuse themselves to his mouth and take from him every ounce of distress he could possibly imagine feeling. They give him every ounce of strength he could possibly possess. Her tongue slinks out over his own and sends small tingles down his back to the base of his spine until his grip on her tightens. Until his grip is tight enough to convince himself that she isn’t going anywhere. 

 “I love you,” she presses against his skin, her mouth somehow never leaving his.

 “Emma,” he breathes again. With a gasp, he says once more, “Emma.” 

 “I'm okay,” she says. Then, with her hips pressing to his, she says, “Let me show you.” 

 In a move that he can barely perceive, one consumed with disorientation and a need to still feel her in his arms, she’s off of his lap and shedding her clothes. Her shorts were wet and difficult to peel from her legs, her-- his-- sweater, too, but her tight tank top, the one doubling as a bra, comes off of her easily. He reaches for her breasts, his lips finding her tightened nipple, and the moan that leaves her has him shaking. 

 She takes his clothes off, too, leaving hot trails of fire with her mouth each time she removes something from his skin. Her tongue follows a line between two freckles on his upper thigh and he throws his head back against the thin pillow that they share most nights. When her lips purse against the angry red tip of his cock, he grabs for her, fingers lacing through her hair and holding onto her if only so that he never has to fear letting her go. If he never lets go of her, he’ll never lose her. 

 She hollows her cheeks expertly, quickly working him to nearly his breaking point until he has to force himself to stop her. He wants her more than almost anything, second only to the feeling of finishing with the feeling of her walls reaching the same precipice around him. He thinks-- he hopes-- that the look he gives her conveys this, and when she releases him and licks her lips, smirking at him, he knows he’s succeeded. 

 Her fingers find her clit, although he’s quick to replace them with his own as she settles herself just above him. When she throws her head back with a gasp, her breasts swell and her long hair nearly tickles his kneecaps. When his fingers slide down from her clit to her entrance, smoothly spreading her arousal until he can tuck them inside, she lets out a moan that’s far too loud for their close quarters, so he sits up and fuses his mouth to hers. Her fingers grip the back of his head, holding him to her and tugging at his hair in a way that he knows means she’s mad with want. 

 His tongue traces her bottom lip in filthy need before he bites down on it, making her moan. “I want you,” she breathes as his mouth finds her earlobe. “Killian, please.”

 “I need you,” he murmurs without meaning to, suckling on her ear in hopes to silence anymore foolish confessions. 

 “Take me. Take what you need, please.” 

 Her core is just above him, his cock throbbing with a need to be within the heat of her walls, to be squeezed by her until he can spill all of the love he has for her inside. When she drops onto him, her clit running along the length of him and warming him from the inside out, he grips her hips once again and helps to guide her. When she whimpers desperately, a moan escaping the back of her throat making him twitch, his mouth finds hers once again. With another move along his length, her fingers reach between them and guide him into her, making her hiss and whine and bite and hug him tighter. 

 “I love you so fucking much,” she says as she grinds down against him. 

 He can do nothing but consume her, taking her mouth against his again and moving into her until she lets out a breathless sound of need and desire. It drives him mad, his whole body shivering as he thrusts up once again, and when she props herself on her knees and moves herself up and down along his length, he has to squeeze his eyes shut. 

 The fact is, he nearly lost her. She’s fine, she wasn’t injured, nothing happened, but it could have been so much worse than it was. He praises himself for being quick enough to cut her free, but fears what could have happened if he hadn’t. But when she takes his face into her palms again and presses their foreheads together, when she whispers that she’s here and that she loves him, he knows that he can believe her. He knows that he can allow himself to move on from the absolute terror that comes with nearly losing the one thing he can’t live without.

 “Emma, fuck.” 

 “Fuck me,” she says. Her grip on his hair tightens again and she commands, “Harder.”

 So he flips them over, Emma landing on her back and gasping when he slams back into her, her ankles hooking around his back and pulling him deeper into her. She moans in his ear when he tucks his face into the crook between her neck and her shoulder and sucks what he knows will become a far-too-obvious mark there. She’ll likely have to keep wearing his sweaters to cover it, not that he minds. 

 She squeezes, and she pushes against him, and she cries out against the lobe of his ear, and before he knows it, his hands are finding the back of her shoulders and pulling her up towards him so that he can hold her as close to himself as he can possibly manage. When she’s seated upon his thighs, his hips thrusting so that his cock can slide into her and hit every perfect part of her, she bites her bottom lip and screws her brows so tightly that he wonders if she’ll have a headache. 

 He can’t speak, can’t put into words the love he has for her, so he kisses her again and she kisses back. And though it’s quick and dirty, it’s just what the two of them need. She’s alright-- she’s just fine-- but they need each other now. He needs her to show him that she’s alright. She needs him to show her that he believes her. So when they come together, Emma squeezing him forcefully and desperately, he spills himself into her with just as much neediness so that they’re falling together, holding each other, losing themselves in one another. 

 Eventually, he falls forwards, Emma barely catching him before rolling the both of them over so that they're on their sides and facing one another. Once they’re comfortable, both of them panting heavily, she lifts her hand and rests it on his cheek, a soft smile gracing her lips and brightening her eyes, and he knows now that she’s alright. She’s fine, just like she said. 

 “You’re okay?” he asks in clarification. 

 “I’m perfect, as long as you’re here.” 

 “I’m always here.” 

 “Then I’m always okay.” 

 He didn’t expect to be here with her, now, with her family above deck, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. When his palm lands softly on her cheek, the warmth of it heating his entire being, he smiles. “I love you.”

 “I love you too, idiot. You’re my husband; it’s kind of a given.” 

 With a laugh, he answers, “You’re very rude.” 

 “Only because I love you very, very much.” 

 “I’m not sure how those two things are equivalent, but…”

 She shushes him then, scooting closer to him so that she can press her lips to his. “Don’t overthink it, baby. You could hurt yourself.” 

 “You’re quite something.”

 “Yes, I love it when they say that to me after a night of passionate lovemaking.”

 “It’s only four thirty.” 

 She laughs softly, a warm breath pushing itself from her lungs and onto his face, his lips tingling in response to the heat of her presence beside him. He laughs, too, his hand brushing a rogue strand of hair away from her eyes. “Emma,” he whispers. 

 “Killian,” she whispers back, “I’m okay.” 

 He nods, because with her in his arms now, he knows. “I know.” 

 She kisses him one more time, then asks, “Now, what was it you always say to me? You’re only allowed to fuck me through your feelings if we talk about them afterwards?” 

 He sighs, nuzzling his nose against her own before it finds her cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

 “You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” she tells him, her exasperation clear in her voice. “I’m not mad, Killian. I just want you to know that it’s alright to feel angry about stuff that scares you.” 

 “When did you get so deep?” 

 “The ocean is pretty deep, right? And I almost got yeeted right into it.” 

 He wants to laugh, truly. He wants to make a joke about her idiotic, immature reference. But he can’t, for his fear of her actually going overboard takes over. And he doesn’t exactly know what the bloody hell that phrase even means. So he squeezes her tighter and shakes his head. “Hush,” he says, because he can say nothing else. 

 She whispers, “Killian,” and when he looks up at her, her eyes are deep and serious. “It’s no one’s fault. And nothing happened.” 

 He shakes his head. “Something very bad could have happened, love. If I ever lost you…” 

 “I know, I know,” she says, cutting him off with one more kiss. “And I know you’re mad at my dad, too, but it’s no one’s fault. That rope was there, and you cut it away.”

 Truthfully, he’s almost surprised by her mention of her father. It’s true that he became too angry, too blameful of the man who could have prevented a disaster from taking place had he only listened. But Emma is okay, she’s fine, and David is probably just as worried as Killian was. 

 “I know,” he concedes. 

 “And I know you’re a little upset about him… I guess he’s been kind of doubting you, huh?”

 He shrugs. She’s right, of course, but far be it for him to admit that he’s feeling this way. Why he can’t, he doesn’t know. 

 “It must get pretty tiring to have him always questioning you, especially since you're the captain. Your word goes, and all that.” 

 There’s no response, not without admitting that this is exactly the way he’s feeling, so he kisses her nose. She makes it easy, of course, and she’s completely right. He gave a command that wasn’t followed, and it could have cost him his life in the loss of her. “It’s just…” he starts, unsure if he’ll be able to finish. 

 “They’ve been doubting you all this time?”

 With a sigh, he nods. How she manages to read his every thought, his every emotion, is lost on him. “We’ve been married quite a while.” 

 “Three years,” she confirms happily. “And we’re pretty content, aren't we?” 

 “Aye,” he laughs, pulling her close to him so that he can tuck her beneath his chin and press a kiss to the top of his head. 

 “They have this need, Killian,” she starts to explain. “They gave me up, and now they have me back. They have this need to protect me and take care of me so they don’t risk losing me again.” 

 “I know, I just--” 

 “And I’m sure it’s impossible to rectify how they could somehow not see you as the one thing that’s protected me more than anything. But they need to be the ones, I think.” 

 He shakes his head, unable to move past the point she’s trying to make as he asks, “So what, I can’t be the one to protect my wife?” 

 With a soft sigh, she suggests, “Maybe their doubts are rubbing off on you? Making you doubt yourself?”

 “It’s not exactly difficult,” he says in spite before again trying to force away his irritation. Shaking his head, he says more softly, “I know that we’re perfect for one another, and that I can and will keep you safe above all else, but the constant distrust makes it difficult to believe that.” 

 Her fingers find the gray along his temple, scratching through it lightly in such loving gentleness. He’ll never tire of how much she loves his grays, his old age somehow feeling more manageable as her appreciation for it grows each day. She stays quiet, and he knows it’s because she knows he’s right. He’s said what he wants to say, and she agrees with him. 

 “You know,” she says, “you’ve known me as long as they have.” 

 “Aye, I know.” 

 “And you love me more.” 

 He clears his throat. “That can’t be true, love.” 

 “And yet, it is,” she laughs. “It’s okay, I like it. I’ve spent more time with you than I have them. I have more of a connection with you than I do with them, in a few ways,” she says with a chuckle, smirking and kissing him softly. 

 “Emma--” 

 “I spent my whole life craving a certain type of love from a certain type of person. I always thought it would be from the people who gave me up, but it turns out I was wrong. The person I was looking for was the person who would love me over everything. The one who would put me above everything. My parents did the right thing when they gave me away, but they still gave me away. You’ve never given up on me, Killian. All my life, I’ve been searching for this person, and I found you.”

 All he can do is hope that the look in his eyes as he stares at her conveys the depth of what he’s feeling for her. She tells him things like this quite frequently, her comfort with him evident as she continues to open up. When they met, she was an open book, although the stories were written in another language. Now, nearly four years later, he’s fluent. 

 Finally, after much silence passes between them-- too much, considering her family is still just above them-- he sighs and fiddles with her hair once more. He’s said his piece now, able to get off his chest the anger and fear that he felt, but with Emma’s heartfelt confession, he feels a need to clarify some things. 

 “Your life as a child who was, well--”

 “An orphan,” she tells him firmly. 

 “An orphan. It seems rather impossible. I just can’t imagine how hard that must have been, and how much strength it must have taken just to grow up.”

 With a soft, sad smile, she nods. “Why do you think I don’t want kids?” she asks with a shrug. 

 His fingers dance along the soft skin of her temple, drawing trails down the side of her face and to the back of her neck before he pulls them together and kisses her lips gently. “It’s… It’s alright for that to be the reason, love,” he starts, hopeful that he can actually get his point across successfully. “But I just want you to know… I mean… you have a reason, but you certainly don’t need one.” 

 “What do you mean?” 

 “I mean not wanting a child is enough of a reason for you not to have one. I know you struggled growing up, and you fear you could subject a child to a similar fate, but you would also have the right to make this decision even if that wasn’t the case.” 

 She leans in close to him, their foreheads touching and her nose bumping his, and she whispers, “I know. And I know that if we had one, we would love it and everything but… we’re enough,” she shrugs. 

 “We are.” 

 “Are you sure?” 

 With a tender, lingering kiss to her lips, he whispers, “What we have is perfect. You and Ripple are all that I need. A baby would add to what we are together, but it’s not something that I need to feel fulfilled. It wouldn’t complete us because we’re already complete.” 

 She sighs softly and nods, kissing him again. “Okay, good. I agree.”

 “I’m glad.” His hands cup her cheeks as gently as they can, all of the love he has for his wife washing through his palms and into her skin. “I love you more than anything,” he promises her. 

 “I love you more than everything.” 

 “Cheeky scoundrel, you are.” 

 “For you, babe.” 

 “When did you start calling me babe?” 

 She silences him with one more kiss, deep and passionate as their lips meld together and their tongues tangle briefly, before she pulls away from him with a salacious grin and stands up. “Come on,” she insists, holding out her hand. “My family is probably wondering what we’re up to down here. 

 He catches the small, genuine smile that graces her whole face, brightening her eyes as she says family. 

 ~~~~

 Dinner that evening is awkward. Despite having an unsuccessful day as far as fishing is concerned, they decided to call it a day and turn in early. The tension on the boat was too high, a conversation desperately necessary but not conducive to their environment. He needs to apologize to her father, he realizes, but he struggled to find the ability to do so while trying to captain his vessel. 

 When they got into the harbor and docked, they decided to go for dinner out rather than finding something to cook either on the boat or in her parents’ hotel room. The small local restaurant they came across just beside the harbor is quiet enough, the atmosphere relaxed and quaint, but it still feels too awkward to bring up his outburst of anger, no matter how justified it was. 

 Finally, after they'd each finished a glass of wine and gotten refills, he clears his throat. “Dave,” he says with little conviction. He scratches behind his ear, noting the way Emma’s left brow raises expectantly, and takes a swig from his glass. “I, uh, I’d like to discuss earlier.”

 Her father clears his throat just the same as he had, pressing his lips together and earning a startlingly familiar look from his own wife. “So would I.” 

 Without making eye contact, he nods, trying to find the right words. “It’s come to my attention that I may have gotten a bit angry.”

 David raises a brow, purses his lips as he stares down at the fish that KIllian can’t believe he has the ability to eat, and nods. “Me too.”

 The silence that consumes their table is deafening, the restaurant suddenly seeming far too noisy against the stiffness between himself and David. Perhaps this will be enough, he thinks. Although, he’s proven wrong easily. Dropping her fork dramatically and rolling her eyes, Emma exclaims, “Are you both serious?” 

 “My thoughts exactly,” her mother agrees. “Do men not talk about their feelings, ever?” 

 “No,” Leo laughs. 

 Her mouth is agape as she stares between them, each of them looking to her as if hoping for guidance in how she wants them to move forward. “You’re both being idiots,” she accuses, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest as she shakes her head. “Just tell each other that you’re sorry, Jesus Christ. What are you, toddlers?” 

 “Sorry?!” her father exclaims in outrage. “What do I have to be sorry for? Your husband screamed at me!” 

 “Because you didn’t listen to an order and almost got her killed!” 

 “I think you’re forgetting that I know what I'm doing when I’m out there, Jones. You don’t need to have a power trip with me.” 

 “I think you’re forgetting, I’m the bloody captain.” He’s seething, leaning forward into the table and resting his elbows on the hard surface. 

 “Shut up!” Her voice is too loud for the quiet space, but truthfully, her words are necessary. “Dad, I know you were scared, and maybe you took that fear out on Killian. But he was scared, too, and he did the same thing. And Killian, I know you gave an order, but he didn’t hear you. So if both of you could chill out and stop blaming each other for something that didn’t even happen, that would be great.” 

 Killian stays quiet, his jaw tense and his teeth grinding together with too much force. She’s right, of course, they’re being childish. She had already tried to tell him that there’s no one to blame, and here he is blaming her father. It’s unnecessary, an excuse for him to ignore his fears a bit more. So he clears his throat again. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I was afraid I was going to lose her and I took it out on you.”

 David takes in a deep breath and leans away from the table, the tension loosening slightly, and says, “I’m sorry, too. I did the same thing.” 

 In a moment of boldness, he says, “Although, it does feel like you’ve been doubting my ability to provide for her since we met, and it honestly feels like you aren’t in support of our marriage.”

 He sees Emma squeeze her eyes shut, her hand cupping her forehead, but she makes no attempt to stop the exchange from taking place. Mary Margaret stiffens, so does Leo, and David takes a moment before even considering an answer. 

 “Killian,” her mother starts, placing her hand over his in an attempt at being comforting. It works, a bit. “Emma, are you feeling that way, too?

 Though she’s clearly on the spot, Emma looks up from the table’s surface and shrugs. “I mean, yeah. I know you guys love us and support us, but he’s right. Sometimes it feels like you doubt we’ll make it.”

 David sighs and shakes his head. “That’s never been our intention.” 

 “We both believe in each other, in our marriage, but to always have you in our ears about how Killian’s older, and his job is dangerous, and how I need stability… It feels like you don’t trust us to take care of ourselves or each other. And now Killian’s doubting himself and blaming himself for something that he shouldn’t be.” 

 She’s honest, almost too honest, and the tension is back. 

 David’s eyes seek the ceiling, his jaw tight before he says again, “It’s not our intention. I’m sorry that we’re making you both feel that way.” 

 Wiping at her eyes, Mary Margaret says, “Emma, honey, we just… we worry about you. We want to make sure that you’re getting everything you need and that you’re well taken care of, and we put pressure on Killian. I’m sorry.” 

 “I know that,” she answers in exhaustion, shaking her head. “I know you guys are putting pressure on yourselves, too, to make sure that I have a good life now that I'm here with you. But I do have a good life. I need you to trust that Killian and I have the best life I could possibly imagine.”

 “We know,” Mary Margaret says softly, her head casting down. 

 “We don’t need different jobs, or a bigger house, or… or kids. We’re perfect just like this.” 

 There’s quiet across the table now, each of them seeming to settle and relax a bit with the truth out between them. It’s not like this isn’t something he and Emma have discussed-- they’ve talked at length several times about how her parents have a need to care for her. But having the words spoken aloud, having Emma ask them to tone it down, feels freeing. 

 “We’re sorry,” David finally says after a few moments of peace. “I’m sorry. I know I’m hard on you, Killian. I worry about my little girl too much, and it’s not fair for me to put that on you.” 

 It’s a big step. Truthfully, it almost takes Killian by surprise, considering the two of them couldn’t even look at each other a few moments ago. But now, David has acknowledged why he’s so upset, and he’s apologized for it. Her mother, too. Honestly, just them recognizing that this is the way they’ve been feeling is enough, even if they continue to doubt him. 

 “I don’t intend to let her down,” he finally says, earning a soft smile from her. “I-- Emma’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ll do anything I can to keep her safe. Always.” 

 She squeezes his hand and she bites her bottom lip, releasing it so that she can smile once more. “I love you,” she says softly for only him to hear. To her mother, she says, “I love him, okay? I’m fine; we’re fine. I promise.”

 ~~~~

 The trip home has been a long one, her father constantly making jokes about how he’s driving that make him absolutely mad, although he knows them to be in jest. He taught Leo how to captain, showing him the ropes now that he’s used to the controls, so with only a few hours before they make port in Storybrooke, he’s able to meet his stunning, sundrenched wife on the deck of his beloved vessel. She tries to sunbathe, although it’s becoming colder and colder the further north they travel, so she’s wrapped in her blanket rather than lying atop it. 

 “Hey babe,” she smiles, tipping her sunglasses off of the bridge of her nose. 

 “Hi babe.”

 The face she makes is priceless, her nose scrunching in disgust as she shakes her head. “No, don’t call me that. It’s all wrong.”

 “And what shall I call you, if you can call me babe and I can’t?” he asks as he sits beside her and presses a kiss to her temple. 

 “You can call me… Darling, or my love, or the best thing that’s ever happened to me…”

 “Those are my options?” 

 “Take ‘em or leave ‘em.” 

 His arms wrap around her easily, pulling her against him until she wriggles herself on top of him. They lie down, Killian on his back and his love resting across his chest, and he sighs happily. “Well, my love,” he starts, his fingers scratching against her scalp until she sighs and melts into him. “It seems to have been a successful season after all.” 

 “Just like I told you.”

 “Aye.”

 “You should listen to your wife, Jones.” 

 “I suppose you’re right, Swan.”

 “It’s Jones, Jones,” she says softly, kissing his neck just above the hem of his sweater. 

 “My mistake, darling,” he almost whispers.

 They’re quiet, so relaxed as they lie together, the swell of the ocean rocking them into a sense of serenity. Her breath is warm as it washes over his skin, sending a shiver down his spine as they travel north, back into the northeast winter. He pulls the blanket they share higher so that it covers her shoulders, and she hugs herself closer to him.

 “Are you okay?” she asks softly after a while, her voice barely audible over the waves. 

 “Aye, are you? Are you cold?” 

 “No,” she shakes her head against his chest, “You're nice and toasty. But that’s not what I meant. I meant are you... okay?” 

 With a soft and understanding sigh, he nods. “Overall a successful season, my love, just like you’d predicted.” 

 “And you didn’t even gaff anyone,” she says with a grin he can hear through her voice. 

 “Well, no one messed up my boat.” 

 She laughs softly and squeezes her arms around him once more. “And you beat out those southern assholes.” 

 He chuckles and lets his fingers trail up her spine over his sweatshirt. He caught more than anyone else, earning more money and respect, along with a target on his back for next year. If he comes back, he’ll have to be careful to ensure that he succeeds once again.

 “I’m glad we��� I mean, we got a lot out in the open. Things feel simpler now.” 

 She nods and kisses the small patch of hair that peeks out from beneath his sweater. “I know, I feel it too. It’s like things have finally settled down, ya know?”

 “Aye. Like we don’t have anything to worry about now.” 

 “Yeah.” 

 More time passes and the gentle hum of the motor lulls them as they skip over wave after wave.

 “I love you,” he says softly, cutting through the comfortable silence lying between them. If he could whisper and she’d hear him, he would. 

 “I love you, too, babe. More than anything.” 

 He moves his hand from her back to the side of her face, the side that’s exposed to the chilled air rather than tucked against his chest. He lets his fingers trace gentle patterns along her temple until she presses up to look at him, her eyes fluttering shut as he cups her cheek. “God, how I love you, best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers. 

 She giggles and leans in, fusing her lips to his, their kiss pure and longing as she deepens it. She lets her hands cradle his head and hold him to her, her tongue sliding out of her own mouth and along the line of his bottom lip before she nips at it. With his hands beneath the blanket that conceals them from the wind and the sea spray, he squeezes her ass and pulls her hips down onto his, drawing a needy moan from the back of her throat. 

 She breaks away from him for just a second, taking in a deep breath without opening her eyes before she leans in again and meets him once more. With a whimper as he bucks his hips up into hers, he lets his hand begin to wander beneath the thick fabric covering her curves. 

 Her family is here, far too close for comfort, but even so, he thinks he would risk terminal embarrassment in favor of being with her if not for the rude interruption. They hear their angel, their Ripple, barking loudly from the rear deck, Leo unable to console her as she argues with the dolphins that greet her from beneath the water. Eventually, he calls for his sister for support, hopeful that Emma’s presence will calm the beast so that she doesn’t leap overboard. 

 Emma groans, breaking away from him and dropping her forehead against his in frustration. “Dammit,” she whispers. “I totally would have fucked you, too.” 

 He snorts, shaking his head and kissing her once more, and says, “I’m sure that’s true. I suppose we’ll just have to wait until we get home.” 

 She smiles softly as she presses another kiss to his mouth and says, “Know what’s funny?” When he hums in question, she continues, “We’ve been married for three years, but it still feels like we’re in our newlywed phase.” 

 He smirks, slapping her ass one more time as she moves to get off of him, and says, “I think we should stay in it.”

 “Agreed.” 

 Apparently, their agreement is binding. He never does lose the absolutely need-driven desire to make love to his wife any chance he gets, no matter what they should be doing instead. No matter the things that could come between them, he loves her, and he’ll never tire of showing her any chance he gets. It’s enough, they’ve both realized. They're perfect. 

 The End

Tagging:

@courtorderedcake​ @kmomof4​ @stahlop​ @klynn-stormz​ @laschatzi​ @emelizabeth88​ @lfh1226-linda​ @kday426​ @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story​ @captain-emmajones​ @gingerpolyglot​ @ebcaver​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @superchocovian​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @tiganasummertree​ @gingerchangeling​ @jrob64​ @onceratheart18​ @xhookswenchx​ @winterbaby89​ @swampmedusa​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @dancingnancyy​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything​ @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells​ @hollyethecurious​ @ouatpost​ @daxx04​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @donteattheappleshook​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​ @xsajx​ @itsfridaysomewhere​​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​​ @qualitycoffeethings​​ @rapunzelsghosts​ @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice​​ @batana54​​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @deckerstarblanche​​ @zaharadessert​​ @xarandomdreamx​​ @pirateprincessofpizza​​ @captainswan21​​ @hookedmom​​ @lostintheskyfaraway​​ @undercaffinatednightmare​​ @strangestarlighttree​​

[ryik-the-writer]

Sequel to Dinnertime Disaster ~ Belle confronts Snow on her behavior towards her family and finally gets some things off her chest.

[A03]

Age of the kids: Around 23

-.-.-.-.-

Belle angrily shelved a cart of returned books, stuffing them beside each other without care to their catalog numbers.

It had been three days since her disastrous dinner with the Charmings and her blood was still boiling after Snow White’s attack on her son. Three days since her son ran off and hadn’t told his parents where he was going or when he was coming back. Three days that her daughter revealed her secret ability and barley spoken a word since.

Even her husband was quieter than usual. Belle assumed he was keeping himself distracted to prevent himself from wreaking havoc on the princess-turned-bandit, and possibly keeping tabs on Gideon, but it still felt like she was dealing with the aftermath alone.

Snow White had destroyed the foundation of her family in a matter of seconds and Belle had yet to be able to piece it back together.

Belle remembered the last time she felt this hate-filled and lost: when she had sent Rumple over the town line after his attempt of murder on Killian. She regretted it the second Rumple was over the line, but she’d been too heart-broken to bring him back. She had tried to convince herself that she was doing what was best for the town and even herself, but deep in her bones she knew she was doing it because she was hurt, because the one person she thought she could always trust had just spat on their vows, and she needed space.

And she did get space…from her rejected husband as well as the very people she’d helped save. For three days she had sat in the home she and Rumple shared, sobbing and tearing apart the remains of the life they had begun to build. Not once did the Charmings or even Hook—whom she would find out through a loose-lipped Leroy had been black-mailing her husband mere days after their wedding—stop by to check on her well-being. In fact three days later, when she managed to pull herself together long enough to get an on-the-house bowl of soup at Granny’s, she found the Charming clan laughing and carrying on at a table in the back, only noticing her once she was leaving.

It was a minor sin, Belle thought at the time, but it wasn’t until a year later, when she and Rumple renewed their vows—when she became a mother and nearly lost her dear son to an unquestionable evil—when the heroes she fought for, and sacrificed over, were dead-set on killing him—that she was able to realize that the sins against her were too great to ignore any longer.

They had left left in the hospital to rot after Killian’s attack, scared and delirious with amnesia, drugging her over and over again to keep her tame.

Snow White had sold out her and her unborn child to save Killian’s skin—and none of them had bothered to warn her of the impending danger.

And they all made the decision to leave her to rot in the Underworld after she put herself in an ill-advised sleep to protect her baby—gods she would never forget the look on Emma’s face when she popped into Granny’s. They had completely forgotten about her.

And that was on top of the constant blackmail, of using her as an inanimate object to be tossed around and trampled on and crushed as long as it benefited them.

By the time her son had been restored to her, she was willing to let go of all the misdeeds done towards her, to begin anew just as Gideon’s life had been.

But then they started up all over again.

Inquiring her services to babysit Neal and Robyn at every drop of a hat—only to ignore her requests for assistance with Gideon whenever she needed it.

Sneering at Gideon from afar.

Leaving all of them out of ‘family’ events, like dinners or parties.

It hurt, but Belle had buried that pain for Neal and Robyn’s sakes. They were what mattered. They were her family.

And now half of that equation was gods knows where, angry and hurting from his own mother’s backwards thinking—and as his unofficially godmother, Belle couldn’t help him.

She knew where he was of course. A quick spell on Rumple’s end determined that he and Gideon were still in Storybrooke, though keeping their distance.

Giving them their space was the hardest part. As a mother all she wanted to comfort her son, but she needed to let him grieve and think on his own.

If the other night hadn’t happened, maybe he would be.

The thought was still on her mind when the door to her library opened despite the closed sign, and festered into hate when the one woman in the world she didn’t want to see stepped in.

“Belle, good morning,” Snow White greeted with her usual bright smile. Though there was more stress in her eyes.

“We’re closed,” Belle said, pushing the cart towards the children’s section, her anger boiling when she heard her follow.

“We need to talk about the other night,” Snow said, her tone indicating there was no room for argument. “More importantly, where our son’s go from here.”

Belle released the cart, letting it roll until it crashed into a shelf. “I have nothing to say to you, and what our sons do is their business.”

Snow rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d act this way.”

Belle slammed a book down on the cart. “Like what, Snow? Like a parent or like someone with common sense.”

“I wouldn’t call you that,” Snow muttered, and Belle twisted around.

“You know what, this has gone on long enough.” Belle said. For yours there seemed to be this balancing act between her and the ex-princess. There was this intense acidity between them, far from a rivalry, but constant enough that they subconsciously tried to outwit each other as mothers and as leaders in Storybrooke.

But there was something more personal there, a phenomenon that divided yet bounded them together for life: darkness.

Snow feared and hated it, convinced that it went against everything she was meant to represent as a hero.

Belle accepted it as part of her life, as a part of her husband and son’s very existence. She hated it as well, but she greeted it with respect, knowing light could not exist without it.

It was in her and her family, and Snow hated that. She hated that her own child didn’t seem to mind it.

But Snow was without reason when it came to darkness, or at least anything that was darker than her.

Maybe the former princess didn’t know it yet, but Belle was just that.

“You,” Belle snarled. “Are a pious bitch and I am so sick of you.”

Snow’s eyes widened but Belle didn’t back down.

“You need to drop your issues with me and my family right now,” Belle directed coldly. “We have done nothing but been civil to you for the past two decades, but all you’ve ever done is stick your noses up at us and the other night was the final straw!”

Belle didn’t back down. She stepped up to the ex-bandit and pointed a finger at her, aiming for her heart.

“You act like your better than us, than me, than everyone in this town, but you’re lower than everyone! People may love you, but they don’t respect you because you have done nothing to earn respect! You endanger them without warning, leave them in the grips of an enemy without a leader! And that’s just the town! What about your family?”

“How dare—”

“Didn’t you ever wonder why Neal came to our house so often?” Belle inquired—begged—Snow White. “He didn’t feel comfortable around you! He felt constricted, like he had to be the son of Snow White and Prince Charming, not the son of his parents.”

Snow shook her head, staring at Belle in disbelief.

“You’re lying. He never said any of this. He never—”

“Why do you think that is?” Belle spat.

Snow’s eyes searched Belle’s face, hunting desperately for the answer that she knew.

She gulped, nodding her head just slightly as her chin wobbled.

“Fine,” she admitted through clenched teeth, her pride settling. “Maybe I did push him too hard. But everything…” she looked at Belle squarely. “Everything I did was to protect him from the likes of you.”

Belle flinched at the way the last word came out, like the tension in the Charming home was somehow her fault.

“Likes of me? Are you referring to me particularly or my family? And I suggest you tread carefully on what you’re about to say.”

“The likes of filthy, dark-hearted cowards,” Snow answered unafraid. “You think I put too high standards? Well you’re right, I did. Because my son is better than you! All of you! You and your…your…”

Belle’s eyes narrowed. “Say it.”

“Your darkness!” Snow said, the word coming out as a gasp. “That darkness…Rumplestiltskin’s darkness…it keeps destroying my life no matter how many times we snuff it out! I wish it would just die already!”

Belle’s heart dropped. So this was how the great Snow White really felt. She rather see them all dead than coexist with them.

“And what about your daughter?” Belle snarked. It was a low blow, and if she wasn’t so mad the words would have never left her mouth. “What about Emma’s darkness? Do you hate that too or does that get a pass from the great Snow White.”

“My daughter’s the Savior,” Snow remarked. “She’s the exact opposite of you.”

“Really? Because if I recall correctly, her potential for darkness was so great you cursed an innocent baby and her mother to boot.”

Snow’s glare wavered. “That was—”

“Sick.” Belle answered. “And you know what? It didn’t change a damn thing? Emma still gave into darkness, still made all the wrong choices that came with it.”

“Emma accepted darkness to save us after your husband tried to destroy all of us!” Snow fought.

“I wasn’t referring to the Dark One’s curse,” Belle stated matter-of-factly. “I was referring to the darkness that has been brewing inside her all her life. The darkness she built to protect herself from everyone who ever hurt her. Baelfire, Rumple and you.”

“Everything I ever did was to protect her!” Snow yelled, her voice cracking. “And I did everything I could to be a good mother—a good friend—to her afterwards!”

“By letting her be with a man who lied to her? Who endangered her family, her son?” Belle retorted. “You led her down the aisle into his arms after finding out he killed David’s father, an event that left him scared. You made him push it aside so you could have your day. Emma didn’t need to get married, Snow, she needed to heal from everything that had happened to her. She needed her mother to listen!”

“I just…she needed…”

“And now she’s in some realm where her family can’t see her,” Belle continued, unable to stop. “Neal was right, you didn’t protect her the way you should have. You were so obsessed with making up for the moments you missed with her that you didn’t care that she was doing everything she did because she was traumatized! How could you not see that as her mother!”

That seemed to be the trigger, the anchor that had been weighing down Snow White’s grief. The woman’s chin began to shake and within a few seconds she was screaming in hysterics.

Belle actually had to jump back, the volume of her cries so loud they threatened to blow out her own hearing.

She watched in horror as the ex-princess crumpled in her library, the door still askew.

Belle stepped over her just enough to close it and allow them true privacy. She could only stare down at her for a moment, this once majestic leader who was nothing but a lump of sorrow at her feet.

Belle had been cruel, she knew that, she felt the lump of guilt began to rise in her throat.

Snow White, despite her faults, was still human, and still healing from her own trauma.

Giving up her child, living nearly 30 years in a lie away from the people she loved, and trying to put back the pieces of her shattered life when she awoke.

Her progress was notable, forgiving Regina, staying by her family’s side during all the various events in the town. Maybe she hadn’t always been the wisest, maybe she’d even been selfish at some points, but she had been doing the best she could.

Belle sighed, leaning down to scoop the sobbing woman into her arms.

“There, there,” she comforted fruitlessly. “Come on.”

She led Snow to a chair behind her circulatory desk, practically dropping her there while she went into the kitchenette for tissues and water.

She returned with a glass and a less-than-comfortable roll of paper towels, handing one to the ex-princess awkwardly.

“Here.”

Snow calmed some, taking the course towel and wiping her red face. She breathed in shakenly, focusing on composing herself.

After a moment Belle grabbed a second chair and sat across from her, hesitating on what to do or say next.

She wasn’t sorry and she wouldn’t apologize, but she hated that Snow had to come to terms with her misdeeds and guilt in such a confrontational setting, and with her at that. Her own home or even Archie’s office seemed more appropriate.

But it was all in the open now, and Belle felt she had a duty to close the door she had snatched open.

“You’re right,” Snow sniffed before Belle could say anything. “I destroyed my family.”

“No,” Belle sighed. “I didn’t mean for you to see it like that.”

“But it’s true,” Snow said with a tired shrug. “I pushed Emma into something she wasn’t ready for and now I’ve lost her. And now I’m about to lose Neal too.”

Belle shook her head, wishing more than anything that he and her son were with them at that moment.

Belle thought about them for a moment, about the last two decades and the time before and all of its obstacles.

“You haven’t lost him,” Belle reassured, her fingers clasped. “I’ve lost a son. I know what if feels like when you realize they’ll never come back.”

Snow tilted her head. “You got Gideon back. You even got to start over with him.”

Belle lifted her head, staring glassily at the woman across from her. “I wasn’t talking about him.”

The confusion faded instantly from Snow’s face as the memory of the fallen man who had impacted both of their lives settled between them.

Belle smiled sadly. “Do you remember that day? When you entered the shop and you told us Baelfire died? You held me, and…that was the last time I felt like I really knew you.”

Snow wiped a fresh tear from her eye. “I didn’t know what to do after he died. All I could do was hold Emma and tell her everything was going to be okay even though I didn’t know if it was or not.”

Belle nodded, remembering how she spent that night in the shop, sobbing into the cot in the backroom until she passed out.

“That…that was the last time I truly felt like her mother,”

Belle blinked, surprised by such a reveal.

It was ironic really. The second she learned of Baelfire’s death was the last time she felt like she had a true friend. Someone else who loved the Dark One, gone.

“I wanted so badly to see her happy again,” Snow continued. “And Hook…he was there…and he…he…”

Belle nodded. “He made appropriate modifications to earn her affection.”

“And eventually he became her only ally because of me,” Snow said with an air of disgust. “Now I don’t even know where she is, how she is.”

Belle sighed. If Gideon ever disappeared like that it would break her.

“Snow,” Belle began. “I know all that’s happened to you is still hurting you. And you’re hurting Neal because of it.” She reached out and gave the woman’s hand a squeeze. “You need to face it all. I had to do the same when Gideon was taken. I had accept my part in hurting Rumple and my son so that I could have hope that we could start over.”

Snow shook her head. “I don’t know if I can. Emma, she…she doesn’t need me anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Belle fought. “Our children will always need us. We can’t fix the past, but we can build a better future.”

Snow could only stare at the woman in front of her. Belle had always been braver than her because she had more to lose. Loving the Dark One was a dangerous game and somehow she won it. Now she had a community that loved and respected her, the same community that looked at Snow White with hesitancy.

Snow had lost the leader they needed at some point, hell, the leader her own family needed.

Somehow, someway, she was going to get her back.

She stood, wiping her eyes a final time.

“I…I need to leave. I need to speak with my husband.”

Belle nodded, standing as well.

Snow moved forward, as if she were going to hug Belle, but Belle took a step back.

Thankfully, Snow seemed to understand. She had a lot to make up for and it would take time.

But really, she realized that Belle was perhaps her truest friend. She had held her accountable today, and had lifted a curtain from her eyes that had been there far too long.

“Good luck,” Belle said. And she truly meant it.

Snow paused outside the library, one last thought weighing on her mind.

“If you see Neal or Gideon before I do,” she began, hesitating a bit. “Could you tell them…they have my blessing?”

Belle tilted her head. It wasn’t quite an apology, but it was good start for the high and mighty ex-princess of Mist Haven.

Belle nodded and sent Snow away with a comforting smile.

They would never be friends, but they knew now where they stood. Belle would hold her with the same contempt that she held with Zelena, Regina and even Emma, but that would be it. Maybe one day that would change, but it was solid relationship for the two of them to have for now.

As Belle locked up the library that night, she felt lighter than she had in years, all the anguish she had felt free from her now.

She smiled a bit as she walked to her car.

She couldn’t wait to get home and tell her husband all about it.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Snow entered the little farm house she and her husband had bought decades ago when the moved out of their little loft apartment.

The house was supposed to be a haven for a new life, a fresh start when their most recent evil had been defeated.

She had imagined raising her son in those safe walls, giving him everything she hadn’t been able to give Emma. She imagined family dinners and quiet nights on the front porch after long, loud days.

She’d gotten all of that, at first, before Emma began to spend less time at the house, before Henry had jumped on his motorcycle and disappeared into the unknown.

She had told herself then that it was just a part of life, her family moving on, but then when Neal began to stray, her acceptance became a panic. She was losing her family, and she looked wrongfully for a scapegoat. The Golds fit the mold. After all, she’d blamed Rumplestiltskin for everything under the sun that had happened in Storybrooke and her family.

But Belle’s talk had lifted that blinder. Rumplestiltskin had made his mistakes and had set to work to fix them. He’d been a good friend to her husband and son all these years, and she’d been too enthralled in her grief to join in on that friendship.

But that was over now.

David looked up when she entered, concerned.

He’d felt…something…in his chest earlier today. Like a piece of the heart he shared with his wife had broken off.

It was unnerving, and if he hadn’t been looking for Neal, he would have ran and found his wife immediately.

He was still angry at her for her outburst at the Golds’ but she was still his wife. His best friend. His everything.

“Snow,” he greeted, relieved.

“We need to pack, a lot. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone.” She instructed, that buried leader insider he creeping back up.

“What?” David said. “Pack for what? What are we doing?”

The ex-princess put her hands on her husband’s shoulders, smiling bravely at him despite the tears in her eyes. He was the one thing she hadn’t lost yet, but she’d come so close, shared heart or not.

She’d hurt him without even realizing it, and she had so much to make up for.

But there’d be time for that.

There’d be time for everything now.

“We’re going to find our daughter,” Snow answered, determined. “We’re going to bring her home.”

[killiansprincss]

Never Forget You ch.12

Summary: Season 6A Canon Divergence.Emma is happy. Finally happy with her parents, son and boyfriend. But this happiness is taken away from her when the Evil Queen curses her and turns her into a toddler.Heartbroken and angry, Killian and Henry run away to Neverland to wait for Emma to break her curse.

But when she does break it and comes looking for them 25 years later, she soon realises this Neverland is very different now it is no longer under Pans rule. Will she be able to save Henry and Killian in time, or will this new ruler of Neverland keep them hostage forever?

So I’m around halfway through with this fic now which to me is amazing as I’ve never written a fic with so many chapters so it’s really special to me. I hope you enjoy this next chapter and let me know what you think!

Find on A03

Killian headed back to his ship in an attempt to cool down after his argument with Emma and talk with Henry.

“Mom?” Henry asks as he comes down the stairs, Emma still with her father.

Getting up off the floor, David just says, “I shall leave you two to talk.”

“What’s up kid?” Emma asks as Heney plops down beside her.

“I don’t like that you and Killian are fighting.”  Henry comments with a slight sad tone.

“We’re not arguing.” She lies.

Henry just rolls his eyes, “Oh please. We all heard get into an argument over going home.”

“Okay. So we were arguing. You’ve been with him for 25 years, what’s his plan? Why doesn’t he want to come home?”

Avoiding his mother's eye contact, he looks down at his feet. “I think you need to talk to him about that.”

“Henry please. I have not seen you or Killian in 25 years. When I woke up from my curse, the day I remembered, I cried so hard because I love you both so much.  I’ve not been your mother. I forgot about you. What kind of mother forgets her own child?” Emma sniffles, “Please. Tell me what to do so we can go home.”

“He’s not the same. Killian. He’s not been the same for a while.”

Emma’s heart drops. “Why? What can i do?”

Henry shrugs. “I don’t know if you can do anything, it’s not like we have therapy here in Neverland. He’s hurting, he lost you. It’s like when you lost him, before you decided to go to the Underworld and you were in a really dark place. Now he’s in a dark place and Neverland isn’t like Storybrooke, especially for him. Neverland, he says it’s the worst realm of all.”

Emma nods. She had lost Killian more times than she wished to. She lost him the first time in the alternate reality it hurt like hell, especially as she was too scared to tell him how she felt and it was suddenly too late.

When Henry returned them to Storybrooke and the few split seconds before she saw his face before the darkness took her, she felt sick at the thought of losing him forever. Then in Camelot, she has finally allowed herself to envision a future with him, she almost lost him again.

She did everything in her power to save him, unlocking every bit of dark magic she had. But it was no good as she lost him for good and wasn’t able to save him. It broke her, she didn’t know how she was going to continue, she couldn’t bear to live in the house he chose without him.

She lost him one last time in the Underworld, but they had come so close to their white picket fence. Going up the elevator shaft alone was the worst thing she ever experienced, seeing him below and not next to her, if it wasn’t for the fact she needed to make sure her family got back home safely, she would’ve broken down there and then.

Thankfully that was the final time she lost him, her soulmate then returned to her a few days later. But then they got a mere few months together until he lost her.

Fate was cruel.

_____

_____

On his first trip to Neverland, Killiian Jones was cursed with memories of Liam and Milah.

And now he was cursed with memories of Emma. They were playing in his head, over and over. Reminders of their times together when they were happy. And the awful times where they lost one another.

Killian is back in the Underworld. The bastard fiery hell he can’t escape from. Hades throne room. He’s beaten and bruised because Hades has taken a particular dislike to him.

He can feel Emma’s prescene. He knows she’s here, He can feel it. He hopes she can’t feel his pain, the way he feels her worry.  He can hear her yelling for him, wanting to know where he is. But Hades drained almost all the energy from him that he can’t even say hello.

Why did she come to rescue him? It’s far too dangerous. He didn’t deserve rescuing, he was a Dark One and he made Emma feel awful. He crushed Merlin's heart. He wasn’t the man he used to be. The man Emma fell in love with.

He refuses to write any names on the gravestones. He wouldn’t do that. Part of him still couldn’t believe they all came down here for him, Emma was a stubborn lass, but her family weren’t always so approving of their relationship-especially Dave. The fact they were even here was beyond belief. Hades can torture him all he likes, Killian Jones is still a man of honour. He will not write any names cursing them to the same hell he is in.

He ignores the beating and the torture. He can take that. But now he’s in chains. Above the river of Lost Souls. The moment the chains lower him into the water, he’s gone forever. Maybe that’s best. Then Emma and her family can leave and she can move on. He doesn’t deserve her. She’s too good for him.  He doesn’t deserve her.

But that doesn’t happen. He sees her blonde hair and red jacket in the corner of his bloodied eye.

“Killian.”

He hears her voice loud and clear. It’s music. She doesn’t give up. She crosses the traps easily and rescues him before he dips into the river. The way she says his name. Killian. His name, not his moniker. Not the name everyone associates with him. No. She sees the man beyond the Hook. She’s the only woman who has seen him that way.

“I told you to let me go.” He tells her.

“I never listen.” She says with a smirk. Gods this woman was amazing.

“You’re impossible.” He manages to say.

“And you love me for it.” Damn right he does. He was still getting used to this century, the one she’s from. The woman is no longer the one who needs rescuing, she’s the one who does the saving. This modern world may be confusing, but his Emma is so strong and he does love her for it.

For a short while Killian actually believes they’re getting out alive. That he will be able to go back with her.

Heart share.

He had heard the story, how her parents managed it.

It was possible.

But that was them. Snow White and Prince Charming.

Would it be possible for Emma and himself?

Gods he loved her. More than anything. He gave up the chance at finding peace with his brother for her. The brother he hadn’t seen in centuries.

But a heart share, it would require true love. Magic that is so powerful. A bond so strong nothing else matters. Could they have it?

And then it didn’t work.

Not because they weren’t true love. But because he was dead.

The Ambrosia. Orpheus and Eurydice.

It would allow him to walk out of the Underworld freely.

But there was a test in the way.

Weighing Emma’s heart. To test if they were true love.

Emma could only admit her true feelings when they were in grave danger or about to die, or both. And that’s why he feared they weren’t true love. He understood though, she had been hurt by Baelfire or Neal rather. She was afraid to open up her heart. He never pushed. He knew, even before she said the words how she felt about him. He would never have said it before she did, he didn’t want to scare her away. Not when she finally trusted him and was letting him in slowly.

Emma puts her heart on the pedestal to weigh it. And when it doesn’t move, his heart drops. It didn’t work, they’re not true love.

Until Emma falls on the floor in pain.

“Get my heart.” She tells him clutching where her heart should be.

When he reaches to grab it, he’s on fire. Literal fire. It burns.

He tells Emma to grab her heart. Worry about him later.

But she doesn’t.

As weak as she is without her heart in her chest, she takes all the energy she has and throws herself onto him, ceasing the fire.

And the doors open.

“It’s true love.”

He didn’t want to believe it. But true love, the most powerful magic of all. He was lucky enough to share it with Emma Swan.

If they weren’t on the hunt for ambrosia the things he would do to her.

True Love. Captain Hook, the villain had found true love, with the saviour, a hero no doubt. Except Emma didn’t see him that way. To everyone else, he was Captain Hook. To Emma, he was Killian Jones.

This next memory was the worst of all. When they found out the ambrosia was no more. Another one of Hades cruel tricks. It was then that he realised he wasn’t going home to Storybrooke. He had to stay here. He had to try and find peace. Without Emma. Maybe he would be reunited with his brother.

He had thoughts about finding peace, before Emma came to save him. But she was so headstrong he had only allowed himself to believe they were all going home. But now, he hoped he would land himself in a better place.

As much as it pained him to lose Emma, for her to go on without him. It was for the best. Fate was cruel, but he was glad to have found Emma.

His true love.

After Liam died, it broke him. He’d lost the only person who ever loved him. He thought he would sail the seas freely as a pirate, having women warm his bed, but never going further than that. Then he met Milah, and she ran away with him. They were going to see the world. She promised him they would go back for her son, for Bae, and they could have a family. And then the unthinkable happened. He lost her like he lost Liam.

And he went back to being a pirate, women warming his bed. He believed he would never find love again. Then a few centuries later, he met Emma Swan. She was unlike any woman he had met before, he was enchanted by her. His usual charms didn’t work on her, but there was something about her that told him to keep going. Looking back, it was the true love bond, but of course he didn’t know it at the time. And so he kept pushing and pushing, and she let him in piece by piece until she finally gave him her heart.

With Emma, she was so different to Milah. She was grounded, she would never leave her son behind. As much as she sometimes wanted to run away, she would never leave Storybrooke. With Emma, he had the prospect of a family, a real family with her son.

He loved her. More than anything.

Even though their time together was cut short, he was glad to even have that time with his true love. She saw past the pirate, past the villain which is more than any other woman had done before. He had changed, he wanted to become a better person, not just to win Emma’s heart (not that she was a prize to be won), but to be a better man overall. A man that he once was, a man his brother would be proud of.

He had found his true love and they had spent as much time together as they could. That’s all he could’ve wanted in life. Emma Swan. The true love of Killian Jones. Who would’ve believed.

That’s why saying goodbye was so hard. He had accepted his fate, but Emma not so much.

Seeing her go up in the elevator shaft instead of going up with her was the hardest thing ever. He held onto her hand until the very last moment, trying to remember what she felt like. He kissed her hand as tears rolled down both their faces, wanting to savour this moment. It was only a few seconds but it felt like a hundred years, this was the last time he would ever see Emma Swan. His true love.

This was the moment that played in his head every single time he closed his eyes. It was the worst moment. He avoided sleep because he didn’t want to be reminded of that moment. And when he was awake he would use rum as a viable solitude to stop thinking about her. Even the happy moments bring no joy into his life, because they are reminders, reminders of what he lost. He doesn’t know if she will ever come back for him, or if he’s lived a thousand years on this damned Island and she forgot about him, never broke her curse and died without ever remembering the man she once loved.

He thinks back to his confession in the Echo Caves. Kissing Emma for the first time revealed so much. He was flirting as he always did, he never expected her to actually kiss him, but she did. Everything seemed to click into place, he could imagine a future, he wanted to spend all his time with Emma, getting to know her and letting her know all of his secrets and fears.

300 years he had lived, and his heart had been broken many times over those years. He never thought his heart could be mended, that was until he met Emma Swan. He was a broken man, and slowly he was mending, but he had no doubt that he wanted every piece of his heart to belong to Emma Swan.

She was his future.

[blessed-but-distressed]

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU

***

also on ff.net and ao3

***

Tagging: @katie-dub , @wholockgal , @kat2609 , @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @biancaros3, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @ms-babs-gordon  @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld , @natascha-remi-ronin, @kiwistreetswan and whoever else asks me.

***

A/N: Part 2 of 2. Surprise, bitch. Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me!

***

Killian

How do you feel about improv? ES

Trepidatious. KJ

What if I told you some random just gave me last minute tickets to a Jane Austen inspired improv drag show, and I have a spare? ES

Curiosity alone compels me to say yes. Pleasance? KJ

George Square. ES

Thank fuck. I forgot my umbrella. KJ

If Killian had any sense, he'd approach the month of August the same way Robin did every year. Which mostly amounted to renting his house out to a troupe of Hungarian acrobats for extortionate sums of money and taking off for the south of France, thus avoiding the whole sorry spectacle.

A privilege reserved for those not living out of their older brother's spare room. Nor stuck writing Fringe reviews for his ailing periodical.

He thought his latest was his best yet.

Do you value your time? Your money? Your life? Then walk, don't run, as far from this act as you can. No one this incompetent should be wielding chainsaws, let alone juggling them. I may have been the only one-handed man at the preview, but with this shambolic spectacle set to run for the rest of the week, I expect I won't be the last. 0 stars.

Liam had accused him of being deliberately cruel, but he hadn't seen the show firsthand. The phrase 'culpable and reckless conduct' came to mind. His review went up online, unchallenged.

To his great surprise, his favourite show so far had been the improv show Emma had dragged him along to. It had all the subtle snark and invariable romance of Austen's classic novels, with the added benefit of Emma nearly passing out from laughing so hard. That alone would have justified his five star review, but the cherry on the cake had been when the man dressed as the elderley Dowager had picked August out from the crowd, and made him part of the act.

Killian generally condemned the casual cruelty of audience participation. Indeed, he lived in constant fear of it at every show he reviewed. But when it came for a certain novelist, he found his views on the matter suddenly rather... fluid.

Try as he might, he couldn't see what Emma saw in the man. What hidden virtues he possessed that had provoked such a ferocious loyalty. Killian wasn't stupid enough to voice such thoughts, of course, but that hadn't stopped him trying to figure it out.

The opportunity to continue this study was surely the only reason he'd opened an unsolicited DM from the man himself, when he should have been watching a Swedish comedy troupe send up classic films in a series of skits.

We have a mutual friend in need. How's your schedule looking uhhh… now?

Killian looked back to the stage. He couldn't be sure, but he thought the red streamers might signify blood. They were either up to Carrie or Jaws.

Trouble? Killian typed back.

Emma. The next message read.

We're in a bar in Leith and things have gotten a little… messy.

Killian checked the time. Barely past one in the afternoon. And fucking Leith? That didn't bode well. But at the same time, his review of the show was supposed to be online within the hour.

With a growing sense of unease, he typed out his reply. Which pub?

***

Stepping into The Marksman on Duke Street was not unlike stepping back in time. More precisely, to somewhere smack dab in middle of the Thatcher era, when Leith was a byword for deprivation and whatever comes after heroin chic. It was charmless, grimy and depressing, and Killian might've never understood the appeal until he caught the sign in the window. It opened at 6am.

Trying to avoid the abject stares of the locals, Killian found his quarry sat at the end of the bar on mismatching stools. Emma slumped forward, her face hidden, but August turned around swiftly at his approach, the alarm in his eyes quickly giving way to recognition.

"Oh thank god." August swept off his barstool, his relief so palpable that Killian thought he might hug him. He didn't look well. Thoroughly debauched, if one might say so, and in desperate need of a bath.

"Nice place," Killian remarked drily. "A bit off the beaten path…"

August pinched the bridge of his nose, looking weary. Or… wearier. "It's been a long night. And morning." He glanced back to where Emma sat propped by the bar, apparently still completely unaware of his absence, and drew closer, his voice lowering.

"You know that Graham guy?"

Killian couldn't explain it, but something inside his chest caught. Like flint striking steel. "Aye," he growled, not liking where this was headed.

"Married," August supplied, without preamble. "She didn't know. No one knew. She ran into them holding hands in the Tron. Matching wedding bands. The whole bit. So she threw her beer in his face and called it a day, right? But this morning, no, yesterday morning, the wife showed up. At the apartment. Emma's apartment."

Killian's fist clenched by his side.

"Yeeaah. It got pretty heated. Long story short, it's been a day and a half. I don't even remember how we got here. I'm not sure I even know exactly where here is. I have to be on a train at 4 to King's Cross or my publisher is going to sue my ass. Now, I can trust you? To get her home safely? You look at her like you're half a drink away from belting out Jessie's Girl at any given moment. I didn't imagine that, did I?"

Of all the places to grudgingly admit his feelings, not least in confidence to this man he wasn't sure he even liked, The Marksman was not the venue he would have chosen. And yet.

"There's very little I wouldn't do for that woman."

He was caught by surprise when the man launched forward and kissed him on the cheek, more still when he went back for the other cheek. August grinned enormously, grasping Killian by the shoulders. "Welcome to the family! Please don't fuck it up." And then consulting his phone, "I really need to go."

August made short work of the rest of his goodbyes, pulling Emma into fierce hug from behind, whispering something into her ear as he let her go. Then, with a wink in Killian's direction and a kiss blown at the nearest crusty Leither, he picked up his messenger bag and fled onto the street.

Steeling himself after that prologue, Killian turned back to where Emma sat by the bar, unseeing reddened eyes peeking out from under a tangle of blonde hair. He pulled out August's vacated stool, and took a seat.

"Swan," he began, with an imaginary tip of his cap.

"Jones," she replied, her voice flatter than he'd ever heard it.

"Of all the gin joints…"

She grimaced. Though her frown was so pronounced already, it didn't make much of a change. "We don't talk about the gin."

"At least tell me it was the good stuff."

She tried to smile, but the action seemed to cause her pain. "Don't do that. Don't be nice to me right now."

"Why not? You're not the villain in this story."

A small noise escaped her, half laugh, half sob. "Sure feels like it."

"No, that's the supermarket gin talking. We've talked about this. Nothing good ever came from a clear spirit at 35p a measure."

She sank further forward in her seat, her forehead resting against the bar top. "Don't be cute. Please just leave me alone to die," she mumbled.

He couldn't resist tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, making sure she could see him. "I'm not going to do that. I have a duty of care."

"Why? Because you'd have to find someone else to write a column about?"

"No," he replied levelly. "Because you're my best friend."

That had her lifting her head off the bar, albeit wincing as she did so. "I thought Robin was your best friend?"

He tapped his chin. "No, it's definitely you."

She considered that. Though how much of her internal brain processes had survived the pickling process over the last 24 hours, Killian couldn't be certain.

Of course, it was at that moment their bartender appeared, a middle aged woman with an ill-fitting polo shirt and bright green acrylic nails she drummed against the bar top. "Another top up, hen?" She didn't even glance at Killian.

He put his hand over Emma's glass. "Actually, I'm afraid we're on our way out."

Their server didn't much like that, a hand finding her hip. "Well that's up for the lass to decide, no?"

"It's okay, Tracy," Emma said, managing a consoling smile. "He's a friend. Are we all settled up?"

"We are." She gave Killian a cool once over. "Friend, you say? Mind you keep it that way. Looks like nothing but trouble to me. And you still raw after the last one. Liars and cheats, the lot of them."

Killian thought to take offence, but Emma already had him by the arm, pulling him off his stool. "Thanks, Tracy. Can you call me a cab?"

***

Getting her into the cab took some doing, not least because she had to pause twice to throw up in the gutter, and the first guy had driven off. Fair play to him. Thankfully by the time the second cab arrived Emma's stomach had settled, and she spent the drive curled harmlessly against Killian's side.

"Your lassie alright?" the cabbie asked, as Killian half lifted, half dragged her from the backseat out onto the gravel driveway. "You need a hand?"

It was a testament to how preoccupied he was that Killian didn't even stop to consider that might've been a crack about his prosthetic until Emma was already inside and passed out on his bed.

He texted Elsa first. A simple heads up.

There's an unconscious woman in the house. Don't freak out. KJ

It went about as well as you'd expect.

At least he had sisterly back up when he broke the news to Liam that he wasn't getting his review.

Needless to say, by the time Emma raised her groggy head from his pillow, the house was no longer silent, and it was no longer still. Elsa had insisted on rushing home, and boyish shrieks permeated the air, punctuated by the usual crashing and banging.

Killian sat in his one armchair, an ugly monstrosity of purple velvet which had been forbidden from the rest of the house, sipping his tea as she came awake. It took some time. One eyelid slithered open. Then the other. Never both at the same time.

"Do I want to know why someone is screaming in the next room?" Her voice was scratchy, and he motioned towards the glass of water by the bedside.

"Nephews," Killian said by way of explanation, as she crawled forward to grasp the glass in both hands, shaking with the effort.

She took a long draught, surveying her surroundings. He wondered how much she remembered from the last two days, if anything. If she even remembered his arrival at The Marksman, or August's leaving. She examined the ornate cornices, and floating beams. The collection of spent paperbacks stacked by the bed and the shabby, unmatched furniture.

"Your house. Your room?"

"My room," he confirmed. "We have guest rooms, but they're upstairs. And quite frankly, just getting you this far was nightmare enough. You're heavier than you look."

He earned a pillow to the face for that remark. It still smelled of her, which in her current state, wasn't much of a testimonial.

"Shower?" he ventured.

"Please," she said, rolling over until she could place both feet on the floor.

"Second door on the right. Elsa left some things out. Towels. Fancy shampoo. Paracetamol," he added with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Should be a set of clothes too."

She cringed. "Elsa knows I'm here?"

"Sorry. It's a new house rule of theirs. Radical honesty. Elsa knows you're having a rough time of it, and are convalescing. But that is the extent of her knowledge. Whether that remains the case, is entirely up to you."

"Right."

"Oh," he said, smacking his forehead. He scrabbled around on top of his dresser, before presenting her with a wooden triangle.

She took it automatically, seeming annoyed at herself for doing so. "Uh, thanks?"

"The bathroom door doesn't have a lock on it. Best wedge it under the door. Trust me when I say, you don't want Lachie walking in on you in the altogether. It's stressful for all involved."

"Good tip," she said, with a ghost of a smile.

She edged past him awkwardly to the door, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She'd already slipped into the hallway when her head appeared back around the door.

"Killian?"

"Aye?"

"I'm horrendously hungover so you probably can't tell, but I appreciate, uh…" she waved the wedge around vaguely. "All this."

"Swan?"

"Yeah?"

"I mean this in the nicest possible way, but please do shut up," he said with a wink. "Also, you're taking me out for pancakes after, so don't be too long."

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, am I just?"

"You are indeed. Best thing for a gin hangover, in my limited experience. And it was very generous of you to offer."

"Very generous," she agreed, dubiously. "And Killian?

"Aye?"

"You're so full of shit. But... I do love pancakes. And one more thing?"

"Hmm?"

She kicked a toe into the carpet, eyes evasive. "You're sort of my best friend, too." Then she disappeared back behind the door, leaving Killian slack jawed.

***

He'd nearly finished two chapters of his book by the time Emma returned from her trip to the bathroom, shower soft and minty fresh.

"Better?" he asked, putting the novel aside.

"Much," she agreed. "Though full disclosure, I think I just used a $300 tube of lotion, and I kinda smell like a baby Porsche."

"The very best kind of Porsche," Killian assured her, offering her his prosthetic to take. "They're terrors once they hit the teenage years. Shall we?"

They crossed Bruntsfield Links just after sunset, the sky still streaked with pink and orange. He'd always loved summers in Scotland, that neverending twilight. It almost made shivering through six months of winter worthwhile. He was so busy admiring the scene, he nearly missed it when Emma detached herself from his arm, stopping in her tracks.

"Emma?"

She was standing entirely still, her eyes shut.

"Are you alright, love?"

Her eyes flickered open, almost surprised to see him still standing there. "Sorry, just… cataloguing."

"Cataloguing," Killian repeated, deadpan.

"Yeah, smartass," she said, walking forward to loop her arm under his again. "Cataloguing. Sometimes I forget, but this-" she indicated the kaleidoscope sky, the green-gold expanse of grass disappearing into the distant smudge that was Arthur's Seat, the group of laughing teenagers nearby trying to finish their mini golf game before they lost the light, "-Sometimes I still have to pinch myself."

She didn't elaborate, and Killian found himself oddly lost for words. He just reached over to squeeze her hand, and led her back towards the city lights.

For the time of year, they got lucky. The line was short, and it wasn't long before they were led to a red vinyl booth, complete with its very own mini jukebox. They both stared at it for a good minute before Emma fished a spare pound out of her pocket, and dropped it onto the table between them. "Your call. I'm going to the bathroom. Anything but Don't Stop Believin'."

Lord help him, but he thought he might love her.

He settled for a less foreboding tune, which morphed into another, then another, before he was fishing out his own coins to keep the party going. If he didn't know her any better, he might've thought she'd done a runner on him. Fortunately, he did know her better. Or at least, he was starting to.

She came back just in time for the guitar solo in The Chain, her I'm-bearing-up smile indicating she was doing nothing of the sort.

"Ruby texted," she explained, taking her seat opposite him. "About twenty times. She wouldn't stop until I FaceTimed her. I miss anything?"

"Just side one of Rumours. And your drink order." He indicated the glass of fizzy orange liquid in front of her.

She wrinkled her nose. "Fanta?"

"Irn-Bru. Best hangover cure there is."

She cast him a doubtful look.

"I'm serious. There's been studies."

"Oh well, if there's been studies." She slid the glass minutely closer, but didn't partake. Instead she watched as Killian lifted his own glass, and made a face.

He lowered his glass. "What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking about how I'm never drinking again. I didn't even know they served beer here."

"They do, but this is Dry Ginger."

She raised an eyebrow. "Ginger ale? You?"

Killian shrugged. "It's something I'm trying. Like a cleanse. But instead of drinking juice and doing yoga, I drink post-mix dry ginger and be less of a twat."

"Sobriety." Emma slapped her hand against the table. "I wish I'd thought of that. But I've barely seen you, when did you decide this?"

"Roughly…" he counted back the days, "43 days ago." When I thought I'd lost your friendship forever. But he didn't have to say it. From the look on her face, she already knew the significance.

"Huh." Emma sat back in her seat, absorbing that. But if she was planning on expanding on that thought, she was saved by the arrival of their waitress, who was all too eager to expound on the daily specials.

By the time they were alone again, Emma had cracked and was halfway through her Irn-Bru.

"I mean, it's not repellent…" she offered, by way of grudging approval.

"Trust me, it works." And then because he felt like they'd danced around it long enough, "So do you want to talk about it?"

She set down her glass, letting her fingers trace along the edge of the table top. "Nope. But somehow I feel like we're going to anyway."

"It was only about eight hours ago you wanted me to leave you to die in Leith's most depressing pub. I feel like it warrants at least a conversation."

She grimaced at the memory. Or perhaps where the memories ought to have been. It was hard for him to be sure.

"I fell in love with a married woman once. If you're worried about my judgement, you needn't be."

He wasn't quite sure where it had come from. This sudden urge to talk about Milah. But it was how they'd always operated, wasn't it? If he wanted Emma to take down her walls, he had to offer up a few bricks from his own. Well, this was more of a boulder, really, but at least he had her attention.

She snorted. "I wasn't in love with Graham."

"So what's the problem?"

"Because," she reasoned, tears springing into her eyes. "It's just so fucking mortifying. To be played for a fool, again. I thought I was smarter than that. I thought I could just, I don't know, flirt with a cute, intelligent guy and feel good about myself for five fucking seconds without it ending with his wife beating down my door demanding to know if I'd fucked her husband!"

She'd gotten a little loud towards the end there, with more than a few wary eyes glancing their way. Killian quickly stood up, and made his way over to her side of the booth, slipping in beside her. It was a tight fit, but it did succeed in sheltering her from most of the stares.

"Alright, so he's a tosser."

Another snort.

"Liam's bookie knows a guy. I could make a few calls?"

She shot him a sideways glance. "Don't tempt me right now. I just feel so stupid. But like, in an angry way."

"You're not stupid for being taken in by him. It's not a weakness to want to see the best in people, Emma. In fact, considering how many people in your life have disappointed you, myself included, I'd say it's pretty bloody brave."

Emma shook her head. "Is it though? I saw red flags. Even from the start he was kind of flaky. I wasn't even sure if I really liked him. It just appealed to my vanity, that he seemed to like me. So don't I deserve this? Just a little?"

"No." Killian wasn't sure where the vehemence came from, but he could feel it, welling up. "No, you don't deserve to be lied to, and dragged into the middle of someone else's messed up marriage without your knowledge or consent. No, you don't deserve being made to feel like the side-piece. You're not the side-piece. You're the heroine. And he's just a fucking wanker. What you deserve..." He looked up to see their server approaching the table, platters piled high with maple syrup topped goodness. He shot Emma a smile. "What you deserve, is pancakes."

***

It would've been remiss of him not to foot the bill, after his earlier declaration about her deserving pancakes, so there'd been a little bit of an argument about that as they wended their way down Clerk Street in the growing darkness. That Emma could argue about not paying for the pancakes he'd goaded her into in the first place, was a testament to the healing powers of Irn-Bru and a triple stack. No truly hungover person would have committed to such a futile battle.

But when they arrived at the beginning of her street, Emma stopped arguing and grabbed a hold of Killian's arm, pulling him up short.

She was shaking her hands out, like she was fighting off an attack of nerves, and Killian was instantly on the defensive. "Swan?"

She stopped when he said her name, plastering on what seemed to him a rather brittle smile. "Hey. Sorry. I'm just wondering, would you do me a favour?"

He had to chuckle at that. "Swan, if the last twelve hours have proven anything, it's that yes, I am available for favours. Unless of course they involve you paying me back for the pancakes. Because I'm afraid I'm rather immovable on that front."

"Great. So umm… Ruby has this theory."

"Ruby has a theory?" he repeated, hoping at some point, things would start making sense. "What manner of… theory?"

"Oh, god this is so stupid," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm just going to say it. I'm just going to come right out and say it: I want you to kiss me."

Something very violent was happening inside Killian's chest, a feeling which was neither happiness, nor disappointment, but a crushing combination of the two. He felt hot and cold. He felt light-headed.

"You want-" he started.

Emma's eyes were screwed shut, as if bracing for a blow. Or in this case, the fallout. She already had regrets. And more than that, it had been Ruby's idea. But why would Ruby…?

Of course.

The best way to get over a man, was to get under a new one. Wasn't that the old adage?

It wasn't about him. It wasn't about them.

No, she'd been clear. I want you to kiss me. She'd chosen him. She trusted him to be the one to soothe her wounded pride. Maybe she'd hoped it would be him. Maybe he was just the most convenient option. In any case, the wondering would certainly kill him.

But not as much as going through with it.

He reached out and took her hand, waiting until she opened her eyes. By Christ, people weren't supposed to look so beautiful by yellow street light. It wasn't scientific. And yet.

"No."

Now it was her turn to look like someone had punched her in the stomach.

"Oh." She made to release her hand from his, but he held firm. In fact, he pulled her closer, just a little.

"No, I'm not going to kiss your bruised pride back into place. Because I promise you, it's going to heal just fine on its own. You don't need a kiss from me or anyone to remind you what you're worth. You never have. It's one of my favourite things about you. Understand?"

Her reply was a little choked up when it came. "Got it."

She gravitated closer, her eyes shining, and he felt like he was losing his mind. He was certainly losing his nerve. He settled instead for raising her hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across her knuckles.

"That's one for the road."

He released her then, though nearly every part of his was screaming at him to do the opposite. Thankfully, she looked just as shaken as he felt. He nearly twisted his ankle in a gutter trying to put a little distance between them. And then he had one perfect surge of stupid confidence, and turned back to face her. She was still standing under the streetlight where he'd left her, looking oddly incomplete.

"Will you do me a favour, Swan?" he called out.

She held up her hands in a helpless shrug. "Sure."

"When the time is right, ask me again."

Then with his heart hammering a million miles a minute, he turned away and slipped into the adjoining street, and back into the night.

[searchingwardrobes]

I Promise to Kiss You (Before You Die): 5/7

I know, today isn’t Thursday, but I just didn’t have time to get this chapter revised and posted until today. It’s not a long chapter either, but are you ready for Emma and Killian to reunite after four years?

Huge thanks again to the mods of the @captainswanmoviemarathon​ and my beta @hookedonapirate​​ .

Summary: Emma noticed him first, never forget that, and while all four of the Lucas sisters love Killian Jones, no one loves him the way Emma does, of that she is certain. Killian Jones also made her a promise. Sure, she was only twelve when he made it, but one day he’ll realize what it meant. One day, she hopes, he’ll get over her sister Ruby and finally notice Emma. A Little Women AU

Rated: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop​ @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog​ @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl​ @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian​ @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89​ @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan​ @xsajx @itsfabianadocarmo @spartanguard If anyone wants to be added or removed from this tag list, please let me know!

Chapter Five: Heartbreak

Four years later . . .

As the carriage rattled through the streets of Storybrooke and away from the train station, Killian’s knee bounced nervously. He was tempted to wipe his clammy hands on his dress uniform, but he refrained. Instead, he fiddled with the hat in his hands.

“Regretting surprising them?” Nemo asked.

He smiled at his uncle and shook his head. “No, I’m just excited.”

“They’ll be excited, too. Mary Margaret and David both seemed quite disappointed when it looked as if you wouldn’t make it to the wedding.”

“It was a happy coincidence that my ship made it in time,” Killian agreed. Then the two men fell silent again.

Killian could feel his uncle’s gaze on him, but he was too distracted with thoughts of seeing Ruby again after all these years. All four of the Lucas girls had written him over the years. Ruby’s letters were filled with woes of womanhood and her frustrations with the limited choices afforded to her.

“I wish I were there with you, my dear Killy. Why should you and Papa be allowed to face the lions of injustice while I must sit and embroider for my dowry (which I shan’t need, mind you)? I rather crave violence, to be honest. Of course, I know what you’re thinking. We aren’t at war anymore, Ruby. Yet you’re still going on your most grand adventure without me! Please write me in great detail about life on a navy ship, for I shall . . .”

Killian smiled, remembering her words as he studied his hat. He tried to spin tales for Ruby, though his excitement had more to do with that volatile mistress, the sea, than with violent enemies. His time sailing the Atlantic and the Mediterranean had more to do with showing off the United States’ now powerful navy to all of Europe.

“A Lieutenant,” Nemo said, his voice laced with pride, “you did very well for yourself, my boy.”

“Only junior grade.”

“You still climbed the ranks admirably in only four years. You’re sure you don’t want to make a career of it?”

“I didn’t want-” Killian broke off, clenching his jaw. “That is to say, I’m eager to learn the family business. And Nautilus Shipping will still allow salt water in my veins.”

Nemo raised an eyebrow knowingly at him. “You were going to say you didn’t want to be away too long, weren’t you? Twenty-one is rather young to think of settling down, you know.”

“For me it is,” Killian snapped defensively, words from Ruby’s letters drifting to the forefront of his mind, “yet why is Ruby at the same age hearing whispers that she shall become a spinster? Why must girls marry so young?”

For the first time since Killian had known him, his uncle grew visibly uncomfortable. “Well, I . . . that is, when it comes to starting a family . . .” Nemo trailed off, then his eyes brightened as he craned his neck to look out the window. “Ah, here we are at Orchard House!”

Killian stepped down from the carriage, replacing his hat on his head. He was disappointed to see that the ceremony had already taken place. A receiving line wrapped around the front yard of Orchard House, and Mary Margaret and David stood on the front steps with their wedding party lined up beside them. David received hand shakes from well-wishers while Mary Margaret received kisses, just as tradition dictated. A slow grin spread across Killian’s face as he joined the line, his disappointment replaced with the eagerness he felt to surprise all four of his favorite girls.

His scheming was worth the reaction he received from his long-time friends. David’s bright grin as he pulled him in for a hug was worth the wait in line. Over the last four years, the two had exchanged letters, their pupil/teacher relationship blossoming into friendship. (Though David’s brotherly advice and encouragement still felt like a welcome stand-in for the brother he had lost so long ago).

Mary Margaret teared up as a grin dimpled her cheeks. She embraced Killian tightly and received the kiss he pressed to her cheek with far more joy than she had bestowed on the other guests.

Ruby gasped and dropped her bouquet as she launched herself at him in her typical scandalous way. When she released him, she shoved him lightly in the chest.

“How dare you surprise us like this! Do you know our hearts all sank to our feet when we didn’t see you in the crowd during the vows?”

Killian laughed and winked at his friend, “It was my intention to be here a wee bit earlier, but I can’t deny my delight at surprising all of you.”

“We’re so glad you’re here,” Belle said softly, opening her arms to receive a hug from him.

Killian drew her close gently, concerned at the thready sound of her voice and the pale color of her cheeks. As he held her, he also noted how thin she had become. None of her letters had even hinted at any type of illness. He glanced over at his uncle, who averted his gaze. Nemo had clearly known how poorly Belle was faring, since he had invited her to come and play his piano regularly now that Killian was no longer home to fill the hallways of his mansion with music.

“Welcome home, Killian,” a voice he didn’t recognize spoke at his elbow.

He turned at the sound and was completely taken aback by the lovely woman before him. All the Lucas girls had braided their hair and threaded buttercups and baby’s breath through them, but somehow the effect was more ethereal in Emma’s hair. The bright sunshine of her waves were wild in her youth, but now it was more like spun gold catching the light. Her figure in the lace cream bridesmaid dress captivated him, and the scooped neckline showed off the decolletage she had not possessed four years ago. Killian tore his gaze away and up to her green eyes, his cheeks heating at the instant attraction he felt. He pushed it down, lecturing himself that this was Emma, whom he had always felt brotherly affection for.

“Emma,” he murmured, slightly embarrassed at the breathlessness of his voice, “I scarcely recognized you.”

“I grew up,” Emma laughed. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“My apologies, lass,” he said as he lifted her gloved hand to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers. When he straightened, his heart raced once again at the blush that stained her cheeks.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Was she just as breathless as he was, or had he imagined it? He suddenly remembered his uncle’s words: A lot can happen in four years . . . girls grow up . . .

“And I am happy to see you, Emma. I can’t call you cygnet anymore, can I?”

“I never liked being called a baby, if you recall. Yet I have always liked being your swan.”

The coyness of her tone and the smirk in her smile made him light-headed. He lifted his hand to scratch behind his ear, but then stopped himself. It wouldn’t bode well for her to know how she was affecting him.

“And that you shall always be . . . Swan.”

***********************************************

Emma burst into the house with such energy and enthusiasm that her bonnet went flying from her head. She shouted for Granny and her sisters, but the first floor was empty. She thundered up the stairs, shouting that she had exciting news, but her family was nowhere to be found on the second level either. She grinned when she saw that the attic door was open and raced up the stairs. Some of the pencils in her hand slipped from her fingers and bounced down the creaky stairs, but she didn’t pause to retrieve them.

“I have wonderful news!” she cried the minute she reached the attic, but she came to an abrupt stop when she saw Ruby on the sofa in the corner, weeping. Belle had her arms around her sister, comforting her. Emma clutched her sketchpad tighter against her chest. “What’s the matter?”

Ruby just turned her face further into Belle’s embrace, and the smaller girl gently patted her back. Emma had never seen Ruby need comfort from anyone, least of all from Belle. Dread filled her stomach. Was someone hurt? Sick? Was something wrong with Killian? Mary Margaret? Granny?

Belle looked up at Emma with a sad expression. “She has refused Killian.”

Emma was rendered silent for a moment as competing emotions rattled within her. On the one hand, she was furious with her sister. How could Ruby be foolish enough to cast aside a proposal from a man as wonderful as Killian? A man who clearly adored her and always had? Yet another part of Emma, the selfish part, was relieved. She had tried over the years to prepare herself for the day when Killian would take Ruby as his wife, but the thought had always left her heartbroken. How could she endure having Killian as a part of her family, but not in the way she longed for? How could she see him for the rest of her days as nothing more than a brother, when her heart ached for so much more?

All of this flitted through Emma’s brain in a moment as she sank onto the edge of the sofa with her sisters. The words that fell past Emma’s lips weren’t even a conscious thought.

“Oh Ruby, how could you?”

Her sister lifted her tear-stained face to Emma in shock. “Do you think I did this to spite him? Do you think I relished breaking his heart?”

Loud, melancholy notes pounded out from the piano next door and floated on the summer breeze up to the attic window. Ruby groaned.

“Listen to him!” She rose from her seat, crossed the attic, and slammed the window shut. She began to pace, worrying her bottom lip. “What can I do? I tried to explain it to him. We would be a horrible match! We’d fight constantly, and eventually, we’d despise each other.”

“But you love him,” Emma said.

Ruby stopped pacing and stared at Emma, shaking her head until her thick brown waves tumbled over her shoulders. “Not like that. Only as a friend. I’ve said it a thousand times, and I’ll say it again: I’ll never marry!”

“You don’t love him?” Emma shouted, jumping up from her seat and tossing aside her sketches. “How can you say that? After all those years of flirting with him!”

“I don’t flirt!”

“Seriously!?” Emma scoffed. “You know what? You don’t deserve him!”

Emma stomped over to retrieve her sketches, her entire body trembling. She was so confused right now. Her relief was overwhelmed by the knowledge of how deeply heartbroken Killian was. She wanted to shake her sister in frustration for so easily casting aside what Emma would give anything to have.

“Emma,” Ruby said gently, placing a hand at her elbow, “I know that you feel for Killian in ways I never could. Don’t be angry with me, thank me!”

Emma looked up at her sister with a trembling smile. “I’m not angry with you, not really.” The strands of Mozart’s Requiem Mass in D floated into the attic, despite the closed window. It felt like a premonition. “I just don’t know that he’ll ever get over you. You know how deeply he feels.”

When Ruby didn’t reply, Emma bent down to pick up her things, then turned toward the door.

“Wait,” Belle called after her, “what was your news?”

Emma felt suddenly sad at the way her earlier excitement had so quickly ebbed away. She mustered a smile for her sisters. “Aunt Regina is taking me to Europe.”

“Why, that’s wonderful!” Belle exclaimed.

“I’m so happy for you, Emma,” Ruby added. “You can study painting.”

Emma nodded and forced a brighter smile upon her face. “She hopes I might make a suitable match there.”

The words fell heavy in the room as Emma turned and made her way back downstairs.

**********************************************

Admiral Nemo sighed, his forehead creased with worry as the train chugged its way out of the station. He didn’t think his nephew would find the balm he was seeking on this journey, yet what could he do? The boy was as stubborn as they came.

He ran a hand wearily over his face as he turned away from the station and went back to his waiting carriage. Regina Mills’ Brougham was parked nearby, and the woman herself sat stiffly inside it. Nemo headed over and tipped his hat to her.

“Good day, Miss Mills. What brings you out today?”

“My man is purchasing our train tickets for the morrow,” she told him primly. She arched one brow and continued, “Ms. Swan and I are leaving for our European tour.”

Nemo’s brows raised. “Is that so?”

“Yes it is,” replied Regina with a sly smile, “and I assume you just saw your nephew off?”

“I did,” Nemo sighed.

“Rumor has it, he is off on his own European tour.”

“If you could call it that,” Nemo scowled. “He’ll be heading to Italy to reconnect with his mother’s old friends in the theater. God knows where he’ll go or what he’ll do after that.”

Regina nodded sagely before speaking again. “Sometimes a young man needs time to nurse a broken heart.”

“More like sow his wild oats,” Nemo bit out. “I had hoped he would go to London to take charge of my business there, make something of himself, but alas . . .”

“A pretty young lady with a good head on her shoulders could entice him to do so.”

A slow smile spread across Nemo’s face. “I agree.”

“So you’ll write me and let me know his itinerary?”

“Gladly,” Nemo assured her with a conspiratorial grin upon his face. He had tried to steer his nephew toward Emma, especially after he witnessed their reunion at the wedding, but it had been to no avail. Yet if the pair just so happened to cross paths in a more romantic setting . . .

“Good day to you, Admiral,” Regina said as her man returned with the tickets. Her eyes sparkled with sly mischief as the Brougham rolled away.

[laschatzi]

Why the season 6 Neverland storyline makes no sense

Killian Jones dropped his revenge plan and returned to his own personal hell to help rescue Emma Swan’s son.

He gave up his home without hesitation to bring her back to Storybrooke after not having heard of her for one year - and even her ex knew he would do anything to bring her back and therefore reached out for him.

He fought by her side against a dangerous witch what almost cost him his life.

He followed her into a portal, not knowing where it would take them.

He persisted even though he was pushed away, ridiculed, treated with disdain and mistrust. He persisted, because he was in this for the long haul.

(All of this happened before they were even a couple.)

In an alternate reality, he sacrificed his life without hesitation so she could save her son.

When she became the Dark One, he followed her to another realm and stayed by her side to save her from the darkness.

He was willing to die rather than let her save him if it meant she’d have to give in fully to the darkness.

In Storybrooke, he kept trying to save her from the darkness, even when it was clear she was hiding things from him and claimed she didn’t need to be saved, because she was better now (he didn’t know her ultimate plan was to save him).

He believed in her and kept coming back for her, even when her parents and supposed friends and even her son didn’t.

Even when he was the Dark One, he managed to overcome his thirst for revenge and sacrificed his life so the darkness would be taken from her and she and her family would not get hurt.

In the Underworld, he was ready to stay behind for good and begged her to go home with her family and have a good life.

When abducted on the Nautilus, he was willing to sacrifice his life so that her son could get back to her.

...but suuuure, “Things got rocky, Hook packed up and left.” Infallible logic, makes total sense, no other explanation thinkable.

(before someone comes at me: I’m not blaming Emma here. I’m blaming the writing.)

[walviemort]

hidden blessing (4/?)

Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah’s death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It’s not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he’s carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.)

rated T | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | AO3 | 2.9k

a/n: another update! this brings us to the end of Season 2...things will only get more interesting from here! (once I write it, lol) Thanks for reading! dedicated as always to the amazing @sherlockianwhovian​

Killian had figured out where the royal family lived sometime after his arrival in town, and his keen sense of direction led him to it without detour (well, save for one to lose the meager contents of his stomach in a bush). When he entered the building, he could hear the sounds of bickering coming through the open door at the top of the landing; they never even heard him coming up the stairs.

“STOP!” the young lad shouted. “I already lost my dad. I don't wanna lose anybody else. We have to work together.” 

“From the mouths of babes. I'd say the lad has a point,” Killian had to agree, enjoying the way everyone jumped at his voice as he entered the apartment. His tiny moment of glee was quickly burst, though, by the swift introduction of the prince’s fist to Killian’s face. 

“That was for the last time we met,” David added.

“Bloody hell,” Killian muttered, checking his nose for blood (and thankful the prince hadn’t headed any further south).

Finding nothing amiss other than what would likely be a sore spot, Killian looked back up to address the group—only to find the end of the prince’s gun staring him in the face.

“Tell us why you're here before I use something other than my fist.”

“I think threatening to kill me seems a bit redundant when we're all about to die anyway,” Killian threw back.

“No thanks to you,” Emma interjected. “Regina just told us you were working with Tamara and Greg to get your revenge.”

It was the first time he’d seen Emma in weeks and the flip his heart did at the sight of her was both foreign and welcome. Why had he waited so long to seek her out?

“Well, that was before they told me I had to die to get it,” he explained, hoping he hadn’t stared at her too long.

“We don't have time for this,” she said angrily, turning to her father. “We have a real problem.”

“Which is why I'm here,” Killian interjected again, calling her attention back to him. “'Cause staring death in the face has made me realize if there's one thing I want more than my revenge, it's my life.” Behind everyone else, Regina gave him a knowing look; but everyone else seemed to buy his reasoning. “So should we stop this thing now, and then resume bickering?”

Regina stepped forward, though. “There is no stopping it. And the best thing I can do is slow it down, but that will only delay the inevitable.”

“It'll give us the time we need,” the prince said, in a tone that generally indicated one had a plan.

“The time for what?” Snow White asked.

“Steal back the beans. Use them to get everyone into the Enchanted Forest before Storybrooke is gone.”

“How? We don't even know where Greg and Tamara are,” Emma countered.

Which was Killian’s prompt. “Well, I do. I can help.”

“Help yourself,” she scoffed. “You'll take them and leave us all behind. Why should we trust you?”

He refused to admit how much that stung—or, rather, continued to, ever since their trip up the beanstalk. But before he could defend himself, the prince stepped in.

“No, we won't have to. I'll go with him, and if he tries anything, I'll shoot him in the face.”

“Quite hostile, aren't we?”

“Just being clear.” How odd that he admired that fiery spirit in Emma but was so thoroughly annoyed by it in her father.

A plan quickly formed and roles were assigned, and people started to move for the door, save for Regina—who was making what sounded an awful lot like a goodbye to Henry. He wanted to be surprised at what was surely going to be a self-sacrificial moment for the queen, but if he truly stopped to think of it, he’d likely do the same, even if his own child was hardly the size of an avocado. The glance she gave him over the boy’s head was full of trust—she was counting on him to.

Were it just him, he likely would have prioritized saving himself over all the others. He knew it wouldn’t be all that hard to get a bean for himself and sail away, leaving everyone else to face their own fates. But now...he wouldn’t be able to face his child with all that blood on his hands. He already had enough of that as it was.

“The things we do for our children,” he found himself muttering as he followed David out the door.

---------

Once more, he had to brave a terrifying motorized coach as the prince drove them to the cannery. Despite everything he’d been through in the past few weeks, he was certain that this form of transportation was most likely to harm him and his babe. But thankfully, it was a short trip, and he couldn’t wait to escape once the vehicle stopped moving.

No sooner had he set foot on solid ground, though, than it trembled beneath him; it had been doing that with increasing frequency. “Time’s running out,” he shouted at David as they headed for the entrance.

Sarcastically, the prince threw back, “Oh, is that what that means?”

Greg and Tamara were in the far end of the building from where they were, but they carefully traversed its length, not wanting to give any warning they were there. Killian was definitely on edge, and he wasn’t sure which was racing faster: his heart, or the rapid flutters of his child.

“So, tell me, Hook,” David started, albeit quietly, as he followed Killian. “All this time, it's been about revenge for you. Why is that suddenly so important to you that you survive? I know what I'm fighting for—my family. What are you fighting for?

As much as Killian longed to say the same, he knew he couldn’t just yet. “Myself. That's plenty of motivation, I can assure you.” Hopefully his reputation covered his half-truth.

Not that it mattered; footsteps fell up ahead and they both fell silent just as Greg came into view.

A scuffle ensued as the two sides fought to gain control of the beans; Killian was briefly discombobulated when Tamara shot the prince’s gun from his hand, but he saw his opportunity as Greg was taunting them with the jar containing the items. He knew it was dangerous, fighting over such an item so violently, but the alternative was even worse, and so he tackled the man to the ground (and was quite pleased to be the one doing the punching for a change). 

David disappeared, chasing after Tamara, while Killian and Greg scrambled for the beans as they lay in the shattered glass; they both got their fingers on one each at the same time, and Greg was up and running much faster than Killian was capable of. 

But he wasn’t far behind, thankfully, as he had to hold back David from running after the other pair.

“What are you doing? They've got the beans!” he shouted, struggling.

“Not all of them. I snagged one,” he explained, showing it to David before putting it in the pocket attached to his belt.

“Where are the rest?”

“Who cares? All we need is one.” David attempted to run after them again; perhaps this was good practice in dealing with an unruly, stubborn child, he thought as he grabbed David’s arm. “Hey! Live to fight another day, mate!”

“I'm not your mate,” the prince snarled, then ripped the pouch off Killian’s belt and headed back the other direction. Kilian sighed, and followed him out.

-----------------------------------------------------

Much of the conversation in the diner around him was drowned out by the delight that was Granny’s cooking; he was glad he’d be able to sate his craving at least once more before whatever happened next, and he’d never met a dish quite like lasagna before. Until he heard an absolute absurd idea—to use the bean on the trigger and save Regina—and turned around on his stool just in time to intercept the bean as David tossed it to Emma.

Sounds of protest immediately followed his deft grab, but he didn’t care. “You're all mad.” Emma tried to grab it back, but he was easily able to hold it out of reach. “I can live with myself.”

“Give it back,” Emma demanded; goodness, she was attractive like this—all fiery anger—but now was not the time.

“If she wants to die for us, I say let her.”

Emma took a step closer, but made no attempt to reach for the bean this time; he smelled something lightly floral that seemed to suit her perfectly, but still—not the time. “You and I—we understand each other,” she said. “Look out for yourself, and you'll never get hurt, right?”

“Worked quite well for me,” he agreed, even if that wasn’t the whole truth.

“Yeah, till the day that it doesn't. We're gonna do this. It might be stupid, it might be crazy, but we're doing it. So... you can join us and be a part of something, or you can do what you can do best and be alone.”

He swallowed. It should be unnerving, how well she had him figured out despite not knowing the whole story. But it was hard to argue against a statement like that.

“Quite passionate, Swan,” he answered, and handed over the pouch. No one waited for any more words and immediately headed for the door, but he hung back—partly because he wanted to finish that lasagna, and partly because he wasn’t done with Emma. Before she’d taken two steps, he reached for her forearm. “Why are you really doing this?” he asked; he could read her just as easily.

And she knew it. “The kid just lost his father today,” she admitted. “I'm not letting him lose a mother, too.”

That was odd; he hadn't heard of any casualties. “His father? Who's Henry's father?”

“Neal,” she answered somberly.

Bloody hell—no. “Baelfire?”

“Yeah.”

This wasn’t nausea—there was genuinely a pit forming in Killian’s stomach. Bae couldn’t be gone; they’d never even—he hadn’t—

He pushed those feelings away as he watched Emma turn and walk out. If Bae was gone, then that meant there was truly nothing for him here.

He felt the smoothness of the bean in his jacket pocket, where he’d hidden it. Good riddance, Storybrooke.

------------------------------------------------

The tremors that were shaking the ground were also stirring the sea, but not enough that he had any problem getting the ship out into open waters. Once he was far enough away from land, he pulled out the bean from his jacket pocket.

For a moment, he stared at it, and felt its coolness against his fingers. How odd that something so small had so much power. Although, he did have to admit: the first image he’d seen of his child was fairly similar in shape, and there was no doubting the sway they held over him; it was why they were here, after all.

Killian tried to focus his thoughts on the Enchanted Forest before throwing the bean and opening the portal, but his thoughts were oddly jumbled, and it wasn’t just pregnancy brain this time.

His gaze drifted to the markings he’d carved into—and scratched off—the helm so many years ago. Bae. 

Now that he was alone, he could feel the emotions at learning of the lad’s passing finally welling up. Well, he wasn’t quite a lad anymore, was he? Or, had he been, rather. He’d grown up somehow, fathered a child, led a life—a life that surely wasn’t what it should have been, and it was definitely Killian’s fault. 

And now, there was a decent chance Bae’s son would face a similar fate, if Killian had interpreted things right. Could he let that happen in exchange for his own child’s safety?

Just then, he felt something sharp in his stomach; his hand flew to the spot, low on the gentle curve of his belly. What on earth had that been?

A moment later, he felt it again, this time against his palm. Was that...was the babe kicking? The books indicated that he shouldn’t be able to feel it yet—not for some time, actually—but there it was again. His child—kicking—communicating with him.

And he could tell right away what they were saying: that no, he could not leave another boy to face the same fate Bae had.

Which meant there was only one thing to do. As quick as he could, he pocketed the bean again and spun the wheel, turning the ship around.

---------------------------------------

The ship was only just docked when the band of heroes were already gathered around the gangplank.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Emma called out as they approached. If he took a long moment to appreciate how she looked with the sea breeze blowing her blonde curls, he kept that to himself.

“Helping,” he answered dryly as he shuffled down the ramp.

“Well, you're too late,” Regina snarked, but sounded oddly worn out.

“Am I?” he tossed back; something had clearly happened in the short time he’d been gone.

Emma was waiting for him at the bottom of the plank. “I thought you didn't care about anyone but yourself,” she said, quietly and accusingly. His stomach flipped and he wasn’t about to try to figure out why.

Instead, he pulled the bean from his pocket and held it out to her. “Maybe I just needed reminding that I could.”

Amazingly, she seemed speechless as she took it from him, then glanced around at the others. Regina, ever the impatient one, was the first to speak up.

“Enough waiting around, let's go.”

“Go? Where?” He’d definitely missed something. “I thought we were saving the town.”

“We already did,” the prince answered; Killian supposed he wasn’t all that surprised.

“We need to get Henry,” Emma continued. “Greg and Tamara took him through a portal.”

Bloody hell; he knew that pair was trouble. There was no debate; he knew what he had to do. “Well, I offer my ship and my services to help follow them,” he quickly supplied. A gentle but firm kick in his belly seemed to indicate his child’s approval.

“Well that's great, Hook, but how do we track them?” Regina complained as they began to board; he could now see her attitude covering up the panic.

“Leave that to me.” The Dark One’s voice never failed to send a chill down Killian’s spine. “I can get us to where we need to go.”

Before he could protest, Snow decided for all of them. “Well, let's do it.” He had to concede for the moment; if they had no clue where the wretched pair had taken the boy, then he certainly couldn’t steer them in the right direction.

Everyone boarded and found places on the deck while Killian readied things. Last aboard was the Crocodile; Killian’s stomach turned at the sight, not just because of recent memories on this deck, but past ones, too. It never seemed to end well when he was on board. This man was the reason his child would never know their mother, and that was impossible to forgive.

But it wasn’t about Killian’s family right now. 

“So, are you done trying to kill me?” the Dark One sneered as Killian descended from the quarterdeck.

“I believe so,” he answered solemnly; at least, he was for now. Gods forbid the man ever came near his child, though.

“Excellent. Then you can live.” Without further prompting, the reptilian man waved his hand, and a swirl of smoke appeared on a crate; when it dissipated, it revealed a frosted glass globe, blank of markings.

Everyone seemed to be watching as he pricked his finger on the sharp point of the needle attached to the instrument, then dripped his blood on the cloudy glass. It swirled red until a map began to take shape—of some terrifyingly familiar islands.

“Where is that?” Regina demanded. “Where did they take Henry?”

Killian swallowed before answering; and gods, he wished it was anywhere else. “Neverland.”

He had no way of knowing whether the nausea turning his stomach was from the babe, or the prospect of entering that accursed realm again.

To his surprise, the only other person who seemed to realize the gravity of the situation was Rumplestiltskin; they exchanged a heavy look, before Killian broke it to get them moving. The sooner they got there, the sooner they could leave...he hoped.

Once the ship was ready again, Emma handed the bean back to him, along with a look that threatened murder should anything go awry. He almost feared that more than anything the Dark One could do to him.

Focusing on Neverland, he squeezed the bean in his hand, then threw it into the ocean and began to steer the ship into the portal that quickly formed.

His companions began to ask questions about where they were headed and who they’d be facing; he wondered what falsehoods this realm knew, but was too focused on navigation—and the flutters in his stomach that were of indeterminable origin—to hear what they were saying.

He knew well enough what lay ahead. And all he could do was send a prayer to whatever deity was listening that he and his babe survived the trip.

And he felt a very firm kick as the swirling waters closed around them, carrying them on their next adventure.

————————————-

thanks as always for reading! tags: @cocohook38​​​ @wyntereyez​​​ @jennjenn615​​​ @superadam54​​​ @ashley-knightingale​​​ @justsomewhump​

[pastelbatfandoms]

Get to know My OC-Meghana

01. What does your character’s name mean? Did you pick it for the symbolism, or did you just like the way it sounded?  I actually looked up names that went with either Hercules or Megara and found Meghana,which is an Indian name that means Thunder. 

02. What is one of your character’s biggest insecurities? Are they able to hide it easily or can others easily exploit this weakness? Her biggest weakness is definitely her emotions and her powers are more dangerous when she’s emotional which makes them easier to exploit. 

03. What would be their favorite physical trait about themselves? Her natural beauty

04. What are their favorite traits about their lover? (one psychological and one physical)  

Hades- Meghana thought he was Charismatic,funny and cute when they first met,yes she knew he was The “Villain” of Olympus she just didn’t care. It was when he showed off his more intelligent and even gentler side that Megs started to fall in love with him.

Physically? I mean have you seen him? and I don’t mean his Blue skinned,monstrous side that everyone thought of. (not that she minded that) but his more human look but still godlike with the bright blue hair,piercing eyes,that magnetic smile and those muscles ♥♥

Harry Hook- Another one of her Lovers that has Charisma for days. Also being The Son of Captain Hook aka Killian Jones,Harry had a wild unpredictable side that Meghana loved. But Harry also had a Sensitive side that he showed to very few. 

Physically-Where to start?! Harry’s smile,that body,that hair,his killer dance moves,THAT ACCENT! 

05. Are they sexually confident or more of the shy type?  Confident,even when she was a Virgin lol

06. Do they have any hobbies that their lover finds unusual, odd, or otherwise annoying? No

07. Is there a catchphrase or sound that they tend to make a lot (likely without being aware of it)? 

08. What is, perhaps, their biggest flaw? Are they aware of this or oblivious to it?  Her Temper,But being with a band of Pirates they kinda embrace that. Her Impulsiveness,her stubbornness. 

09. Do they have a favorite season? What about a favorite holiday? Spring and Winter. They don’t really celebrate Holidays on The Isle. 

10. Is your character more feminine or masculine? Feminine but with God like strength 11. What is something that would make your character fly into a rage? Being left for someone else,being used. 

12. Is there some particular talent, skill, or attribute that they simply could not give up? Well she kind of had to give up her Powers while on The Isle. (At least The Darker ones.) But probably her Inner Strength. 

13. What are your character’s sleeping habits? Heavy or light sleeper? Blanket stealer? One that always rolls onto the floor? Pushes their lover onto the floor? Sleep talker or walker? Light sleeper,if she sleeps at all. Cannot sleep alone,but always looks like she’s sleeping peacefully. 

14. Do they live alone or with family? How do they feel about their family/roommates?  Meghana’s never truly been alone. First it was being born into a family of Gods,then getting sent to The Isle with Hades,then joining Uma’s Crew after Hades dumped her. 

15. Is there a certain person in this world that they cannot stand? The very mention of this person’s name makes them tremble with anger or fear.  Maleficent. But not out of fear.  16. Is your character the athletic type or more of a couch potato? What are some sports/games that they like? Her Father is The Hero/Demi God of Strength,what do you think? 17. Does your character have dreams of getting married and/or having children? Yes well Marriage anyway. 

18. What kind of home would they want to live in? Where would they place this abode?  Anyplace her loved ones are,she’s very adaptable. 

19. Would your character be the kind to get into fights? (physical or verbal) Would they be a good fighter or cave in rather easily?  Meghana can be peaceful until you push her buttons,being a student of Hades and on a Pirate Crew you better believe she has a Temper. Uma and Harry taught her how to fight without the use of her powers and she has become rather good at it. 

20. Does your character like animals? What are some of their favorite animals? Would they want pets? What about mythological creatures? Yes,her Favorite’s are Big Dogs and Horses. Her favorite Mythological creatures are Pegasi,Unicorns and Cerberus.  21. What is one of your character’s biggest fears? How would they react when dealing with this fear?  Well she’s already dealt with being Abandoned,I suppose her parents hating her and never being allowed back in Olympus. (Which doesn’t happen)

22. What kind of tattoos, piercings, birthmarks, freckles, and other such unique physical features do they have?  Besides her Godlike Beauty she doesn’t really have any other unique traits. But unlike most Greeks her hair is a Golden Red like her Fathers. (until she goes to the isle)

23. What is your character like when it comes to school? What subjects are they good/bad at? Do they get in trouble a lot or are well behaved? When Meghana was in School on Olympus she was a very good student. The Classes and School (which looked more like a Cathedral) were very different from Earth’s or even Auradon Prep. Meghana’s favorite were Music with The Muse Euterpe and Pegasus Riding with The Goddess Nike. 

24. In their own words, how would your character describe what their lover is like? I kinda already did....

25. Is there something traumatic from your character’s past that greatly affects them even to this day? Being sent to The Isle of The Lost by her Father and Zeus. 

26. What is their lover like sexually? How do they feel about their lover’s quirks, needs, etc?  Hades is a very demanding yet gentle lover. If there is something Meg is not comfortable with,which is few and far between he comes to realize,Hades won’t do it. But when he’s jealous that’s another matter entirely. Hades can also be especially Seductive and persuasive when he wants something. 

Harry is very Charming and Flirtatious,though he gets Jealous as well,although it more has to do with his insecurities more than anything. Harry is very dominating and passionate in bed,usually taking the lead,unless it’s a day where Meg feels more Dominant then Harry can become Submissive as hell. Harry also likes using his Hook as well but not in an Extreme BDSM way more of an Enticing,seductive way. 

27. If your character was going to get arrested, what would be the most likely reason for it? Using her Powers and going Evil like Audrey did. But Aurodon doesn’t really do arrests,more like Banishment. 

 2 8. If your character became a celebrity, what would they be famous for? Model or Olympics.

29. What is one of the most courageous things your character has ever done for a loved one?  

30. When it comes to the arts (music, film, theater, etc), what does your character like?  Greek Poetry,The Ballet,Musicals,Fine Art,Anything Opulent with a darker undertone,She also has a fondness for Dance Music and Black Metal. 31. Would your character be the kind capable of killing? Would they enjoy killing or only use it when necessary or, perhaps, refuse to kill no matter what? I think Meghana would only kill when Necessary,like if someone she loved was threatened or hurt,or if she was blinded by rage and betrayal. (like when Hades left her for Maleficent) 

32. If your character’s lover offered to take them out on a dream date, what would they want to do? A date with Hades would be a bit unusual,if still Gods,they would probably spend the majority of the time in The Underworld,then sneak up to the surface for a picnic. 

With Harry it would be a bit more daring,more going out at night on The Isle,teaching her how to sneak into places,teaching her how to sail and telling her about his adventures in Neverland when he was young. Causing a Ruckus wherever they went.

33. If your character wanted to be alone, where would they go? On Olympus it was to her favorite Water Fountain in The Nymph gardens,usually taking Pegasus along with her. There’s not much freedom on The Isle to be alone but at times she’ll go up to The Helm of The Ship or her Quarters for privacy. That’s usually only when she’s troubled though as she is the type to not like being on her own,especially on The Isle. 

34. Does your character have favorite foods? (breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, snacks, etc)  Grapes,Pomegranates,Apples,any fruit really as well as Bread. Though recently she has become fond of Sea Food. 

35. Is your character afraid of death? If they got to choose how to die, how would they want to go? Megs is a DemiGod so No,she knows what lies ahead and is even looking forward to it.

36. Does your character have any medical conditions? Are they serious or minor? Do they affect their day to day life? No

37. What are some of your character’s pet peeves? What are some things that annoy them or disgust them? Flirting,being Manipulated,Liars,Judgemental people (Villains and Heroes alike) 

38. What kind of weather does your character like? Cloudy skies, rainy days, sunshine, etc? The Isle is usually cloudy so she has gotten used to that. Sun or Rain is both fine with her,Megs doesn’t really have a preference.  39. When people look at your character, is there some assumption they might make about them just by appearance? Is that assumption correct? Snobby,Evil,Immortal (Contrary to popular belief Gods are not) Selfish,Reckless,Naive,,Mean. Yeah she really is none of those things,she can be a tad Selfish at times but that is not always a bad thing. Also Just because she is Friends/in love with Villains does NOT make her one.  40. Does your OC have any guilty pleasures they enjoy? Hobbies, past times, music, etc that they wouldn’t want known by others?  Well few Heroes know that she still dabbles in the dark arts every now and then,even sneaking a peak at Mal’s Spell Book once or twice. Other then that not really no.  41. Does your character’s family affect your character in any way? They used to and to some extent still do,since she is stuck on The Isle. 42. Is there anything in your character’s past that they regret, haunts them, or they wish they could change?  Maybe encouraging Audrey to become Evil,Meg didn’t do it on purpose only saying she knew where Audrey was coming from and how she felt,also if SHE had Maleficent’s Staff....Also not liking Mal on The Isle because of her Mother... 43. Does your character have a switch that changes aspects of their personality whether they are around friends, family, etc. Is there someone who gets to see their true self? Not really. I suppose she’s more on and Intimidating to those she doesn’t know.  44. Is there a particular event that would emotionally devastate your character? Losing Harry or any of her Friends on The Isle.  45. Is your character the kind to hide their true emotions or do they wear their heart on their sleeve? A bit of both. Though she has become more guarded as of late.

46. What is some random affectionate thing that your character always does to their lover? Meggie is The Queen of Affectionate gazes but on a more physical level,she does give her boys kisses on The Cheeks when she’s excited and neither Harry or Hades are averse to PDA. 47. Is your character outgoing? Would they be the leader of the friend group, or the quiet one that gets dragged along? Outgoing definitely. She started off as a bit more Introverted until she met Hades,but Megs has always had a Sassy,’I can take care of myself’ side just like her Mother.  48. Is there anything in particular that would ignite your character’s jealousy? Or does your character not get envious? Her Men flirting with someone else or being Flirted with. Which is a problem because both Hades and Harry are flirtatious by nature.  49. What is something that your character has nightmares about? Are these frequent? Do they heavily affect your character’s mood? Not so much anymore. But she has had to wake up or comfort Harry during a particularly bad night terror.  50. If your character confessed love to their crush, boyfriend, girlfriend, etc, what would they say? When Meghana first confessed her feelings to Hades,during an intimate moment,Hades was at first taken aback,he never told her he loved her,until they were broken up,but he always called her My Queen or My Love so Megs took that as the same thing. 

With Harry it was very mutual,though they were both cautious at first,Harry looked at her one day while with the crew and whispered “I think I’m in love with you.” Megs responded back in kind and they’ve been together ever since. 

[slow-smiles]

The plan to tell Emma’s parents about her relationship with Killian gets derailed when she is kidnapped by the Dark One. Captain Duckling. Revelations, reunions, adventures, and smut ensues. ~6.8k

The grand finale to the My Princess, My Pirate series, which was originally just supposed to be PORN but this definitely has way, way more plot than porn. Enjoy? This is part one of four. Reading the predecessors isn’t necessary, but would probably be helpful. Also just... ya know, screw the canon timeline, use your imagination.

Read on AO3. Read on tumblr Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

The Swan of Misthaven. Part One.

The lazy morning on the ship turns into a relaxed afternoon on horseback in the woods. They’d decided, wrapped up in bedsheets and enjoying each other slowly and lazily once more before they dressed for the day, that they will tell her parents about them tonight. No matter how busy they get, the king and queen always make time for a family dinner on the last evening of the week, and Emma had thought that it would be a good time to introduce him.

“No use waiting anymore, right?” she’d said, breathless as his lips traced across her belly.

“A capital idea, love,” he’d agreed before his mouth descended on her quim with hunger and tenderness both, and conversation had become one word responses after that.

Now, Emma glances over at him and cocks her head to the left. “It’s just right this way,” she says and bears her horse in the direction she’d indicated, and Killian follows. His talents at navigation are more aptly suited to seafaring than forest tracking, so he is glad to allow Emma to take the lead here.

They crest a gentle rise, and Killian finally sees a break in the trees ahead. “C’mon,” Emma says and nudges her horse to a canter, and he follows on his own steed. Even before they reach the treeline, it’s possible to see the bright colors in the clearing Emma’s led them to.

A truly impressive array of wildflowers blanket the small valley, more of a gentle dip in the earth sheltered by hills than anything else. The stunning range of color is almost shocking in it’s vibrance—bright blues and violets, mixed with some softer reds, creams, and yellows, a dash of firelight orange here and there. It’s the type of scene that if a painter captured it, critics would call it unrealistic in its gaudiness.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes, and then dismounts.

Emma’s answering grin is wide as she follows him off her horse. “My parents used to take me here a lot when I was younger.” She makes a turn, rotating and squinting at the treeline.

“What are you looking for, love?”

“Ah!” she exclaims, dropping her horse’s reins and flitting over to a fat-trunked cottonwood. “This is the tree where my mom first taught me to shoot.” Killian follows and notices the red rings that have faded with time and weather, but the many arrow-sized gouges in the tree, clustered around the center, are the true indicator of what this used to be.

He runs his fingers over the worn wood at the bullseye. “Looks like you were a natural,” he says.

Emma laughs. “Hardly. Most of those were Mom showing off, though she kept saying it was ‘for demonstration purposes.’ Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty good now, but I was always better with a sword.”

“Pirate,” he says fondly.

She laughs again. “Maybe when we retire.”

It occurs to Killian then that once they tell her parents and follow through on Emma’s plan, he will become royalty. Merely prince consort, but royalty nonetheless. There’s still a part of him that chafes at the concept of monarchy, of privilege and power being born into rather than earned with painstaking work and bloodshed, of corruption unchecked by any other authority—

But then he looks to Emma and she challenges every notion of royalty he has ever had. She is kind and generous, compassionate and courageous; she is capable of doing great things with the tremendous power that will be handed to her when her parents eventually step down. He will be only too happy to serve at her side. 

“Imagine that,” he replies, turning towards her. “We’ll call our ship ‘The Crone & The Codger’ and we’ll show all the young up and comers how it’s really done with our white hair and rickety joints that we keep in order with regular sword fights.”

Emma snorts and steps into him, putting her arms around his waist and just holding him close. He buries his hand in her hair, stroking through the strands. It’s warmed through from the sun, and it glints off the shining strands between his fingers.

“I like imagining a future with you,” she murmurs into his chest.

“And I, you.”

“Especially when it means we’ll end up as old, saggy pirates.”

“Oi,” he says, “who says we’ll be saggy?”

She pulls back enough to meet his gaze. “That much direct sunshine on our faces all the time? We’ll be saggy for sure.”

“Well, with that attitude—”

She disrupts him with a kiss, which he gladly returns.

When she pulls away, she maintains her grip on his neck and on his lapel. “I can’t—I don’t know how to tell you how much it means that you’re willing to go through all this royal garbage.”

“I have a hell of an incentive,” he says. “An empty life on the high seas where in all likelihood I’ll meet my maker at the end of an enemy sword? Or a life lived with the person I love?”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is to me. Your title, your duties, the court, whatever else—they’re… I can’t say inconsequential, but they aren’t nearly the hurdle you think they are. You’re worth any pain or inconvenience. You are remarkable, Princess Emma White, the Swan of Misthaven.”

Emma closes her eyes and bites her lip to keep from laughing. “You’re cheesy at shit.”

He barks out a laugh. “My grand declarations, met with naught but scorn? You wound me.”

“Sorry,” she says, tone not matching her words, and leans up to give him a peck. “I love you.”

They end up on a blanket in the midst of the clearing, sharing a small package of salami and aged cheddar between them, talking and giggling and kissing. They keep making plans, silly ones, serious ones, ones that involve Killian repainting the entirety of the palace bright purple, ones that make excited anticipation solidify in his gut. After nearly six years of secrecy, silence, hints of fear if they were on the cusp of being discovered, to revel in the possibility of openness is intoxicating. The bubble of happiness and love they’ve found themselves in is almost tangible, like a shield that makes them untouchable, invincible.

Oh, how wrong they are.

Killian hears him before he sees him.

The giggle that haunted his nightmares and fueled his revenge for hundreds of years echoes through the clearing like a pistol shot.

Emma’s gaze fixates over his shoulder, a look of horror taking over her face.

“Well isn’t this a picture.”

Emma and Killian are both on their feet and facing their intruder in an instant. Both of their hands go to their hips where their swordbelts normally are, but Killian curses when he realizes they left all their weaponry on their horses, grazing on the other side of the clearing.

Rumplestiltskin stands not five paces away, looking for all the world like he is having a grand old time. He looks the same as Killian remembers—the wide, predatory grin; the metallic, gold-hued skin; the dark, scaled vest; the gnarled hands; and perhaps worst of all, the light in his eyes that flares at the promise of cruelty.

Killian can’t help but growl, “Crocodile.”

This is true: Killian has not thought much of his old nemesis in the last six years.

This is also true: Killian has never forgotten the grief and rage rotting and fermenting in his gut, fueled by the image of Milah being murdered by the man who was her husband while he had no choice but to scream and watch someone else he loves die while he can do absolutely nothing about it.

This is the most relevant truth: Killian is terrified that it is going to happen again.

Emma bends down, and when she stands, she has a small knife in her hand. It was probably tucked in her boot, and Killian feels like he is going to be sick because he loves her, he loves her, he loves her so much and it’s going to happen again, just like Milah, just like Liam, and he’s—

“Emma, run,” he whispers urgently. He can buy her some time if he can just get close enough to rip out the Crocodile’s throat with his hook; that will at least slow him down.

He charges forward without waiting, hoping that he can rely on the element of surprise, but he’s frozen in place before he takes a second step, his body enveloped in translucent red magic that tickles across his skin like a breeze.

“You already tried that once, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin says, wagging a finger and grinning. As though letting her in on an inside joke, he says to Emma, “He stabbed me right—” he dramatically jabs a finger into his chest, right over where a heart would normally lie, “here. In case you can’t tell, it didn’t work.” He giggles in that maddening way of his once more.

“If you touch her I will end you,” Killian hisses, “I will—”

“Oh save it,” the Crocodile says with an impatient wave of his hand. “You haven’t managed to kill me for your last love, and it’s been what, a few hundred years?”

Between one heartbeat and the next, a knife flies through the air and embeds itself right in Rumplestiltskin’s left eye.

The creature screeches, blood spilling from the wound. He bends at the waist, turning away from them slightly, his hands going up to his face. Killian is flabbergasted because Emma just hurt the Dark One with nothing but a knife, how can that be possible—

Then Emma is at his elbow, pulling him despite the magic keeping him frozen. “Emma, just leave me,” he says, desperate and hoarse. “Go.” The Crocodile might be hurt, but Killian knows it won’t be for long.

“Fuck that,” she says, and pulls harder. “How strong can this magic really be—”

Emma’s startled shout cuts him to his core when an unseen force yanks her off her feet and away from him.

The Crocodile has straightened again, one hand extended towards Emma as his magic drags her struggling form closer, her bloodied knife clenched in his other. His left eye is unrecognizable and blood pours down the side of his face. In truth, Killian hadn’t known until this moment that he bled at all.

Emma comes to a stop next to the Crocodile, and he pulls her to her feet with magic. She’s facing away from Killian, so he can’t see her eyes, and he would give anything to switch places with her, give anything to be the one to die today—

“That,” the Crocodile says, “was not very nice.”

Emma spits in his face.

The imp just cackles again, unconcerned and amused. “You are lucky I need you, dear little Emma. I’ve removed intestines for lesser offenses.” He makes a twisting gesture with the knife, pantomiming splitting Emma’s stomach open without touching her.

“Please don’t do this,” Killian pleads, his anger caving in and leaving only pure fear in its wake. “Take me instead. I’ll do anything, please just—”

Suddenly he finds his air supply quite thoroughly gone. His chest heaves against the invisible pressure on his throat, his limbs still frozen.

“As it turns out,” the Crocodile says through clenched teeth, “I need your girlfriend, but not you. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

“No!” Emma exclaims. “I’ll do whatever you want if you let him go; right here, right now, no strings attached. He gets to leave right now, alive and absolutely, completely unaltered.”

Emma, no. He wants to scream the words at her, but his vision is swimming with black and he still can’t breathe. 

“Smart, dearie, to make your request so clear. Smarter than your parents ever were.” Rumplestiltskin seems to consider it, tapping the bloody blade against his chin. “I accept,” he says. “I can always kill him on another day.”

“What? No—”

Killian doesn’t hear the rest of her reply because both she and the Crocodile are enveloped in red smoke and are gone in a blink.

The magic falls away from him immediately, and Killian collapses.

Emma is alive, for now.

He is alive, for now.

He feels the grief and rage that never truly left him stirring, because leaving him alive will be the last mistake the Crocodile ever makes—

But beneath that is the rationality of three hundred years spent searching for a way to kill the Dark One.

And Killian knows that he is going to need help.

    The late afternoon sun streams through the window, illuminating a pale column of dust until it reaches the round table at the center of the council room. With the heat of late summer still upon them, the fireplace against the wall lies dormant—the only real activity in the room comes from it’s two occupants. David and Snow are preparing the agenda for the council meeting later in the evening when one of their pages bursts into the room rather unceremoniously, causing both of them to jump out of their seats. 

“Thomas!” David says, half greeting, half surprised exclamation. “Where’s the fire?”

The joke doesn’t go over well. Thomas is gasping for air, and manages a polite, “Apologies, Majesties. I don’t come bearing pleasant news.” He remembers some of the royal etiquette then and bows, but doesn’t straighten back up immediately, bracing his hands on his knees. 

“Thomas,” Snow prods, stepping forward and placing a hand on the page’s shoulder. Her voice is kind when she asks, “What is the matter that has you sprinting a marathon to see us?” She shoots David a small smile. 

Thomas, while a kind-hearted soul, has a history of making mountains of molehills. Once, Snow and David raced in a panic to the kitchens where Thomas reported that a sixteen-year-old Emma had been with a gentleman caller unchaperoned, only to find Emma visiting with Eric and Ariel’s son Adrien, who is rather famously and unabashedly not interested in women. There was the time he’d had half the palace shepherds in a panic when he thought he’d seen a wolf amongst their small flock of sheep, only to find it had been one of the herding dogs all along. Of course, who could forget the time he’d burst into the council room with urgent news that the royal convoy from Agrabah had arrived early and there was no one at the docks to greet them, only for David and Snow to race to the harbor and find that the ship was still hours away due to the tides, set to arrive on schedule.

He’s a good kid, David knows, but hardly has a good judgement of urgency.

Thomas finally straightens and swallows. “I’m afraid this is no laughing matter.”

“What is it?” David asks.

“The princess has been kidnapped.”

“What?!” David and Snow both exclaim.

“According to Captain Humbert, it would appear she’s been taken by a pirate band led by Captain Hook.”

“How in the world—” David begins, his mind seeming to only function in fits and spurts as he tried to process what Thomas has told them.

Yes, they hadn’t been able to find Emma anywhere this morning, and her horse was gone so they’d assumed she’d gone out for a long ride to cool off after the ball last night. But Emma knows to stay away from dangerous ports, and she is a formidable opponent with a sword (an opponent who had surpassed David in the last five or so years with her swordsmanship; she’d been practicing on her own as she’d definitely picked up some new, flashy tricks that he’d never taught her.) Even if she was disarmed, Emma is no stranger to throwing a good punch—so how did this happen?

“Have we received a ransom note?” Snow asks, the picture of a composed queen, but David can see the way her breathing is picking up. She’s starting to get scared.

“No, that’s—that’s the odd part. Captain Hook himself rode up to the castle gates and announced that the princess had been kidnapped.”

“What.” David has no other words.

“I knew Captain Hook was bold, but I didn’t realize he was that bold,” Snow says.

“He’s blazed past bold, overshot brazen, and landed himself right at stupidity.” David glances back to Thomas. “I assume he is in the dungeon?”

Thomas nods. “Captain Humbert took him into custody immediately upon his arrival. He has been—” Thomas winces, “very vocal about his displeasure.”

Snow makes a sound not unlike a growl. “Well, if he doesn’t care for the accommodations, he’d do well to not kidnap people and show up at their homes looking for hospitality.”

“That’s not exactly—w-well he’s insisting that he wasn’t the one who kidnapped her.”

“Oh Lords,” David says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What is going on?”

At that moment, the double doors of the council room swing open and Captain of the Guard Graham Humbert enters.

“Graham,” Snow breathes in relief. “Thomas, send word to the other councilors that Emma has been kidnapped, and they are to convene immediately. You’re dismissed.”

Thomas bows and scurries out of the room.

“Okay, Graham, please tell us what the hell is going on.” Snow says. 

While not as young as he used to be, Graham Humbert has aged well. He could likely pass for someone a decade his junior if it weren’t for the hair that had gone peppery in his fiftieth year. As it is, he’s still spry and athletic, and his mind quick as a whip. If there’s anyone who can tell them what exactly is happening in their dungeons, it’s him.

“What’s Thomas relayed?” he asks.

“That Emma’s been kidnapped, likely by Captain Hook, who rode up to our gates like a madman, at which point you took him into custody,” David says. “Oh, and he’s claiming he’s not the one who kidnapped her. Sound about right?”

Graham sighs deeply, the pauldrons at his shoulders rising and falling with the depth of it. “Thomas's account is accurate. And as for Hook, he seems—not like a pirate who is out to extract a ransom. He is positively desperate to talk to the two of you, and he won’t tell me what about exactly. He has been completely insistent that the Dark One is the one who kidnapped Emma, not him.”

David’s hackles go up. “The Dark One.”

“No one has heard from him in decades, not since everything he’d planned for Regina fell apart; why would he resurface now?” Snow asked, and David could tell she was ready to dismiss the possibility.

Graham shrugged. “We have no way to confirm his story. Captain Hook is a well-known con man with a rumored feud with the Dark One. He could be trying to get our help with some sort of revenge, using Emma as leverage.”

Admittedly, that sounded more reasonable than Rumplestiltskin deciding to come out of the woodwork after almost thirty years of absolute silence.

A beat passes. “I want to talk to him,” Snow says.

“Your Majesty, I don’t think that would be wise to give him exactly what he wants—”

“He has Emma, Graham,” she snaps, “and I am fully prepared to give him absolutely anything he wants, quite frankly, to assure her safety.”

He bristles, “I want Emma safe, too, Snow.”

David glances between them, his wife and one of their most loyal friends. “I think we should talk to him,” David finally says. They both look over. “What’s the harm? If nothing comes of it, we will leave him to you,” he nods at Graham, “and if he unintentionally reveals something while trying to swindle us? All the better.”

Graham nods. “As you wish.”

“Bring him to the throne room immediately. We’ll be waiting,” Snow says.

With a salute and a heel turn, Graham is gone.

As soon as the door closes behind the captain, Snow’s posture sags and she places a supporting hand on the council table. Her breathing goes deep and rapid, and her other hand goes to her abdomen. “David, I might need you to loosen my corset.”

“Snow,” he says, trying to hide his own fear for his wife’s benefit, “We need to stay calm.”

“Calm!” There is fire in her eyes when she turns to him. “My daughter may have been kidnapped by pirates for ransom and you’re telling me to stay calm?!” Her fast breathing turns into quick pacing, “Here we were assuming that she just wanted to get out of the palace for a while, but what if our security has gotten so lax that we basically invited them to take her—” she claps a hand over her mouth, and David steps up behind her and takes hold of her shoulders to halt her pacing. 

“Snow,” he says again. “I’m scared too, but we absolutely cannot panic.” He reaches for the laces on her corset, and loosens the first tie. He doesn’t need a passed-out wife to deal with on top of the missing daughter.

David continues as he pulls each crossed lace enough to give Snow more breathing room, “It will take a few minutes for Graham to bring Hook up to the throne room—”

“Gods, and Captain Hook of all the pirates,” Snow breathes, but she sounds less frantic.

“I know,” David soothes. He ties off the corset again, and pulls Snow around to face him. Her arms immediately go around him. “We have a few minutes before we need to be there. And I need badass bandit Snow to come out, all right?”

“Right,” she says, and he can hear the smile.

He pulls away and frames her face with his hands. “We’ll be together the whole time.”

“Together,” Snow repeats, their mantra, and David is so proud of her.

“Let’s go.”

    The throne room is not their usual forte. Typically they receive guests in the main foyer, the ball room, the dining hall, or the myriad of tea rooms and libraries that are perfectly adequate in style and function. However, there are occasional moments when the intimidation and sheer majesty that comes along with sitting on the thrones in the massive, ostentatious hall is necessary.

He and Snow are seated side-by-side when the massive double doors at the opposite end of the room are pulled open by the two attendants, revealing two guards with a shackled man between them. Graham stands slightly ahead and to the right of the prisoner, and leads the group down the long room towards the dais where the thrones are raised above the floor.

Captain Hook is not what David imagined. He imagined someone much older, perhaps with a cocky swagger and a feathered cap. Someone who would be described by innkeepers as eight feet tall and broad as a bear across. Someone who could inhabit all the legends surrounding them. Someone larger than life.

But this man is not much older than Emma, and looks—desperate. Frightened. Almost small in a way that doesn’t seem to be this man’s true nature. Apparently, a long, black leather coat and vest had been taken off his person when he’d been arrested, along with at least seven weapons, as well as the brace that holds his infamous hook. He only has on a loose black shirt, leather pants, and a set of boots.

He is, to David’s surprise, entirely underwhelming.

To compensate for the lack of hand that handcuffs would require to work, it seems that Graham has shackled the pirate’s ankles and just above his elbows to do the job.

“On your knees before the Queen and King,” Graham orders tersely when they arrive at the dais. The guards flanking him don’t wait for Hook to obey before pushing him down before them. Up close, he looks pale and his eyes swollen and red-rimmed. David feels strangely ill at the sight of a man clearly wrung out and forced to his knees. 

Hook’s first words to them are strained, “Please, your Majesties, you have to believe me. The Dark One has Emma, and I—”

“You’ll speak when you’re spoken to,” Snow interrupts, the imperiousness of her position ringing in the grand hall.

“With all due respect, no,” Hook hisses, surprising David, “we don’t have time for this rigamarole, we need to find—”

A well-placed kick from a guard to the pirate’s abdomen cuts off his next words. “Shut your mouth, pirate.”

“Sims,” Graham snaps. The one who’d kicked Hook, Sims, looks chastened beneath his visor. “This isn’t the Evil Queen’s kingdom anymore. Act like it.”

“Yes, sir.”

A beat of awkwardness passes before Snow speaks again. “Where is the princess?”

“I’ve already told you,” Hook says. “The Dark One kidnapped her.”

David cocks a brow. “And you know this how? Do you work for Rumplestiltskin?”

“I would rather die,” he responds, clipped and matter-of-fact. A short silence follows, as Hook seems to search for the right words. “I was with her when the bastard took her.”

David asks, “And why was Emma with you? She’s not stupid, she wouldn’t dabble with common criminals for a laugh.”

“Choose your next words wisely,” Snow warns, “because my husband was rather generous when he described you as a common criminal. You have more than earned a death penalty in many kingdoms who would be all too willing to take you off our hands.”

David refuses the urge to look over at Snow, needing to present a united front. Snow is hardly an iron-fisted ruler, but her threats always have teeth, and to say that he’s surprised she’s threatening this man with death would be an understatement.

Hook’s eyes drop to the floor, and the breath he takes is shaky. He whispers something David can’t hear into the floor before he looks up. “Because I love her.” It’s quiet, but… definitive and calm in a way David did not expect. It’s also the absolute last answer either of them were anticipating.

“Excuse me?” Snow says.

Louder now, Hook says, “I love her. We have been secretly courting for the last six years.”

David’s jaw drops, and he doesn’t need to look at Snow to know that she looks much the same. “That’s—”

“How—”

“You’re—”

“That’s—”

“How—”

“That’s impossible!” Snow finally settles on. “She would have told us!”

“Would she have?” Hook responds, in that same sure, quiet tone as before. One that makes David want to believe him, despite what it would mean. It would mean that their daughter has been lying to them for years, has been keeping a massive secret for over half a decade.

It could also mean Hook is just a very, very good actor.

“Yes,” Snow insists.

“Why would I come here if I’m not telling the truth?” Hook asks. “It would be suicide to ride to your gates and offer myself up. And since I do, in fact, value my own life, well.” The intensity of Hook’s gaze is startling, as though by sheer force of will alone he can make them believe him. “No one has asked for ransom. I haven’t asked for a single thing except that you help me rescue her.”

“This is preposterous,” Snow declares, “You are a pirate and a villain. I might not know much about my daughter’s romantic tastes, but I’m sure they don’t stray towards the violent sociopath side of the scale. Captain Humbert—” Graham stands at attention, “—take this man back to the dungeon. We shall see about extradition after we find out where they are hiding Emma.”

Hook’s eyes widen in panic when he realizes his story isn’t taking hold. “Please!” The guards force him to his feet, but he refuses to move from where he stands in front of the dais. “You have to believe me! She is in very real danger and you can’t just—”

“Let’s go,” Graham says, and the guards begin to drag the pirate backwards.

“He’s going to kill her!” Hook begins to struggle more violently, dropping a shoulder and throwing it into the guard at his left. A loud oof! sounds from the man, and Graham orders two guards along the wall to assist. The throne room knights converge on the pirate. His struggles had been adequate to delay the two guards, but four succeed in beginning to drag him back towards the doors. “Please, you have to believe me!” he shouts again.

David finally spares a glance over at Snow, and despite her cold expression, he can see in her eyes that she’s anything but certain. “We need to see how many councilors have arrived, because we need to convene immediately,” Snow says to him. She’s barely holding it together, and so she turns and starts to head for their private exit. David follows.

“Her favorite color is yellow because it reminds her of buttercups!” Hook finally yells, voice hoarse and breaking over the syllables. 

Both he and Snow freeze. 

“She has a set of freckles on her back that looks like Cassiopeia,” he continues, fighting against the increasingly frustrated hands of the guards. David looks back and sees Graham hesitating. “She adores cinnamon and cannot stand horseradish. Her horse is named Tuppence because of her favorite book when she was a child, and—and she always brought home birds with broken wings and rats with missing paws because she couldn’t stand to see a creature in pain. She’s got a—a beautiful voice even though she hates to sing. She curses like a sailor and I love her more than life itself, and even if you execute me here and now I beg you to please save her.”

“Snow,” David says, and he can’t deny the truth now. This pirate, for all the difficulty it might cause them, loves their daughter. He would have to to know these things. Even if she were captured, it’s not like Emma would share things like that with someone holding her hostage.

“Let him go,” Snow commands, and descends from the dais and strides towards Hook.

Graham has been the Captain of their guard about as long as Emma has been alive—he knows the princess almost as well as her own parents—and commands the guards to release their charge. He reaches for the keys at his belt, and the shackles on Hook are soon on the floor.

Hook, for his part, looks flabbergasted, and his eyes dart up to Snow and David, who stop just short of him.

Snow looks contrite, but overriding that is a deep sympathy. She tries, “I—” but can’t seem to find the words. David is only a little shocked when she closes the distance and wraps Hook in a hug that he was absolutely not expecting.

His arms remain frozen, his eyes mildly panicked, his entire posture screaming indecision. David idly wonders how long it’s been since someone hugged him—besides Emma, he supposes.

Snow pulls back but leaves her hands on Hook’s shoulders. “I still have a lot of questions,” she says slowly, “but I think we can manage to hold off on those until Emma is back safely with us.”

Hook sighs then, the last bit of overt tension draining from his frame. Now, the only tension remaining is in his eyes and his jaw as he replies, “Aye.” He squares his shoulders in a way that gives David pause because he looks—very nearly military in that moment. “We should pool what we know. Come up with a plan of attack.”

David nods. “We should convene with the Council.”

Snow nods, and gestures over her shoulder to Hook. “This way.”

    He is introduced to the small gathering as Captain Hook and an ally to the throne, with no mention being made of his brief time in custody. They’d given him back all that had been taken off him when he’d been arrested, so he feels a little less naked standing in front of the Council.

(Admittedly, riding straight to the palace and announcing that their future sovereign had been kidnapped was not his best plan by half. In terms of efficiency, however, of getting over the awkwardness of having to tell Emma’s parents that they’d been intimately involved? It functioned as well as anything else he might’ve been able to come up with had his mind not been occupied with worry for Emma, and the myriad of ways he wanted to slowly and painfully kill the Crocodile.)

He knows how rumor mills work, especially in close quarters, so he figures they all likely know about it by now, even if they haven’t heard about the scene he’d caused in the throne room. However, instead of questioning him, they seem content to follow the lead of their queen and king in planning the rescue effort for Emma.

“So Hook,” asks the woman who was introduced as Mulan, “you’ve hunted the Dark One for many years. I imagine what you know could fill a library--why is it you need the crown’s assistance?”

“Because I’ve hunted him for years and yet he still lives,” Killian answers. And that’s the real rub of this whole ordeal, isn’t it? If Killian had succeeded, if he’d taken the Crocodile down years ago, if he hadn’t failed over and over and over again to find a way to successfully kill the beast, then Emma would be perfectly safe. “I’m not willing to risk Emma’s life for my own pride.”

If any of them are surprised by his lack of formal address of their princess, they don’t show it. The woman to Mulan’s left is the next to speak--Ruby, her name is. “What strategic intelligence can you offer, then?”

“There are plenty of things out there that can kill him, despite what he’d have anyone think. Weapons to cut immortal ties, weapons that can end curses. Eternal traps, as well. He feared Pandora’s Box more than just about anything I can remember.” He leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table. “But as far as I can tell, he has found every single item that can trap him or do him harm, and has locked it away in his castle. Or he’s put an impossible enchantment on it, like he did Excalibur.”

“An impossible enchantment?” asks Ruby.

Killian shrugs. “I can’t remember the verbiage of it, but it’s trapped in an ancient, enchanted stone. Since Rumplestiltskin himself couldn’t draw it out, he cast a spell that would turn anyone who tried into dust.

“It’s a fool’s errand to seek Excalibur,” Killian concludes. “You’d throw more lives away trying to break the spell than it would save.”

“So what do you suggest?” Snow asks.

Killian sighs. “He keeps the most dangerous of his treasures in an underground vault.”

“So we break in, grab what we need, and then we’re good?” David asks.

“If it were that simple, I’d’ve been able to kill him a century ago.”

“Wait, how long ago?” David asks.

Killian winces a little. “I’m a bit older than I look,” he says, and quickly moves on to avoid any lingering questions about his age. “But the vault is enchanted to the teeth, and it doesn’t have any windows or doors. Completely physically sealed off.”

“He would need a--a vent or something, right? Air pressure might make it collapse otherwise,” Mulan suggests.

Killian leans back again. “Magic. And I’ve tried to get in every way a layperson without magic can. Teleportation scrolls, tunneling spells, magic beans. All have failed. What we need is an extremely powerful magic user who is able to bypass the security enchantments he’s put on the vault that can teleport us in. And before you suggest it,” Killian warns, “no, fairy magic will not work. Even pixie dust won’t make a dent.”

“We know such a magic user,” Snow says.

David looks over at her. “We do?”

Snow ignores him. “She lives in a village on the way to the Dark One’s castle, just outside our kingdom.”

“Snow,” warns Ruby, trepidation on her face. The rest of the councilors look equally nervous.

David seems to catch up to his wife’s thoughts at that moment. “Oh no. Snow, you can’t be serious.”

She looks over at David. “I am. Emma’s life could very well be in danger. Regina is our best bet.”

Killian finally realizes why her suggestion caused such a stir. “Regina? Your mean the Evil Queen who ruled your kingdom a few decades back? Waged war against you two personally? Who murdered the king, your father, if I’m not mistaken?”

“The very same,” Snow says coolly.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but as I understand it, there is no love lost between you three. What makes you think she’ll help?” Killian asks.

Snow’s expression is steely when she answers, “She owes me one.” She meets the eyes of the Council as she continues, “Both David and I will ride out with Hook. A smaller strike force for a mission like this is ideal, and approaching Regina with just the three of us looks a lot less suspicious than sending a few soldiers or a messenger in our stead. She’ll be more willing to help us if we ask her personally.”

“And then you ride home after we enlist the sorceress,” Killian says, concluding the plan. It’s not an awful one--Regina is certainly powerful, and she was trained by the Dark One, so she might know him and his castle even better than Killian. The story of how she stopped from casting the Dark Curse is muddled, and there are at least ten or so versions swirling around, but the one consistent is Rumplestiltskin’s meddling. The old queen has a penchant for revenge, so perhaps it won’t be so hard to convince her once she learns he plans to kill the old beast--

“No, we’ll be going to save Emma ourselves,” Snow says, and Killian’s musings screech to a halt.

“What?” he asks.

“We’re coming,” David affirms. “Just because we’re older doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten how to fight.”

“Besides,” Snow adds with a strained smile, “It’s been too long since David and I have had a proper adventure. And knowing Rumplestiltskin, having a True Love’s Kiss handy will probably be wise.”

Killian looks around at the room, and is shocked to see nods in agreement.

“Are you all mad?”

“Pardon?” Ruby asks, aghast.

Killian scoffs. “I’m the only one not sitting on a political council, and yet somehow I am the only one who sees the blatant idiocy in sending the only two people who have a legal claim over the throne after their only heir who is being held by a homicidal maniac.” Around the table, he’s met with some contemplative looks, others blank. His gaze finally makes it back to Snow and David, whose silent conversation ends after a few moments and they turn to look at him.

Snow says, “We haven’t had dealings with the Dark One since before Emma was born--”

“Did you ever make a deal agreeing to give him your firstborn?” Killian interrupts urgently, a wave of memory coming over him like suffocation, remembering Milah’s despair and fear that the deal her husband made might extend to any of her future children (their children, had been the undercurrent.)

“No,” David says vehemently. “Absolutely not.”

“The reason we stopped--” Snow shakes her head. “Look, we stopped making deals with him when Regina revealed how far his machinations went and she didn’t cast the Dark Curse. He always wanted something from David and me. We weren’t so dense to think that the price for all the deals we made was always so light--he must’ve needed us for something.” She straightens her shoulders. “I’m hoping that’s still true.”

Killian bristles. “Hope is a veneer, not a bedrock.”

Snow tilts her head. “You’re awfully cynical, aren’t you, Hook?”

He laughs sharply at that. Emma had asked him the exact same question many years ago. He gives Snow the same answer he’d given Emma, “Not cynical. Realistic.”

“And having hope isn’t realistic?”

Six years ago, he would’ve answered without hesitation. Six year ago, he hadn’t had any hope. Now, his hope sits in the clutches of his worst enemy.

His answering smile is humorless. “Haven’t always had the best track record with it, I’m afraid.” 

He takes stock of the room again. None of the councilors seem inclined to fight the decision their monarchs have made; at most, several of them look favorably in his direction, but none are willing to protest. He raises his hand and hook in defeat. “I can’t stop you. I’ve stated my objections. I came for help, no matter how I can get it.”

David rises from his seat. “Trust us, Hook. We will get Emma back.”

He knows that they both believe that. Maybe there is something to the stories he’d always heard in Neverland, about the power of belief, but he has always been a pragmatist. He isn’t so prideful to think that once they have Regina on their side, their fight will be easily won. No, he knows that anything worth fighting for like this is paid for in blood.

He’ll just have to make sure his is the only one spilled.

[killian-whump]

I know you weren't a big fan of s6, so if you could rewrite it, what would you change?

Everything.

No, I’m kidding. I mean, there were some things I liked about S6 and would definitely keep around. I thought the S5 finale set everything up for S6 really well. I was excited for the Land of Untold Stories, and all the tales that were hinted at in the scenes that took place there, and I love Regina, especially when she’s the Evil Queen in flashbacks, so I was all amped up for the dual Reginas storyline. S6 looked great from that point.

Then it all went to shit.

The Evil Queen thing was SO over-the-top, and Lana was playing her in a campy and ridiculous way that didn’t appeal to me at all. In hindsight, I can see that they were trying to keep her “redeemable” and play up the whole “still Regina, even as the Evil Queen” thing for the storyline resolution, so they needed her to only be quasi-evil instead of evil-evil. Okay, fair enough, but it was still super disappointing and even downright cringey, and I will never forgive them for turning one of my favorite parts of the show into a circus act. Honestly, if they weren’t going to do the Evil Queen justice, I would’ve rather they hadn’t gone anywhere near her. So that would be change #1: Drop the camp or drop that storyline entirely.

And they could’ve dropped it entirely. That exciting land of Untold Stories they teased us with in the S5 finale was... a let-down. Yes, we got Jekyll and Hyde and Captain Nemo... but the Aladdin stuff they gave us was more fairytale than literary classic, and wtf was up with the ridiculous one-off shit like the Count of Monte Cristo? There were SO many classics they could’ve visited, and greater detail they could’ve gone into with the ones they DID visit... and the Land of Untold Stories was so COOL looking, with its wild mix of architecture and dirigibles and steampunk style. WHY would you create such a fantastical and fun-looking world, and then take everyone from that world and put them in OUR boring ass world? S6 should’ve taken place IN the Land of Untold Stories and brought us a lot more fresh takes and characters from that land than the pittance we got. AND MORE STEAMPUNK, FOR FUCK’S SAKE.

I’m also still angry that they teased me with an asylum plot in the press before the S5 finale, then gave me a taste of it IN that finale... and then ripped it from my greedy, hot little hands. They didn’t even put Killian Jones in a straitjacket while they were there. What the fuck, guys? Who does that? That man was born to be put into a straitjacket for my enjoyment and you had him RIGHT THERE and even put someone in a straitjacket, but it was the wrong fucking someone. Had S6 stayed in the Land of Untold Stories, we could’ve had untold opportunities for more asylum whump, and they could’ve put Killian in a straitjacket and made all of my dreams come true.

And why the SHIT did they actually kill off Hyde when Sam Witwer was the best thing to happen to that show since Colin, himself?! I mean, yeah, the Jekyll and Hyde storyline was probably planned from the get-go to end in their deaths, but when you see what a complete GEM Hyde is, what with his penchant for the Evil Queen’s cooking and his ridiculously awesome facial expressions and his dashing dapper-do and Sam Fucking Witwer’s everything... change whatever the fuck you need to change to somehow keep this man on your show. And then they even went and full-on made this man redeemable and gave him a heartbreaking backstory right before they killed him. Like, fuck you? Seriously. Fuck everyone for that one. I will never forgive them for killing Hyde.

Okay. Moving on from my general complaints, we come to my Killian-specific complaints. And there’s a lot of them. S6 did that character SO wrong SO many times... I really just want to take it out back and beat the shit out of it.

For starters, his relationships were ALL thrown in the shitcan. It was like S3-S5 just never happened and he was right back to Square One with everyone, being that dastardly pirate that can’t be trusted and that no one could ever care about. People who clearly cared enough about him to go to the fucking Underworld for him in S5 were suddenly calling him a pirate like it’s a foul word, and blatantly telling him he’s not good enough to be part of the family. Yeah, I get it, they wanted some dramatic negativity before showing these characters fully accepting and embracing him as part of their clan... but you know what makes for really awesome storytelling? Realistic relationships that grow and evolve over the course of several seasons - which was what they fucking HAD before they threw them all in the shitter for fake “developments” that had already happened. And FYI, Henry was actually nastier to Killian in the beginning of 6x06 than he was during the Spell of Shattered Sight. Like, did no one at the writers table even pause in their pursuit of drama long enough to realize that if Henry really ever had that much animosity towards Killian, it would’ve come out THEN? Or, you know, at any point in the course of the last four seasons?!

And it goes without saying: I would never, ever, ever have had Killian be the murderer of David’s father. Or, at the very least, I would’ve never had the murder go down the way they showed it in the flashback. Have it be an accidental death. Have it be a pirate duel. Have it be anything but cold-blooded murder. First of all, it’s just not believable that David could forgive him so easily and so quickly for depriving him of a loving father for no fucking reason. Secondly, they spend four whole seasons showing us flashbacks of a pirate with a deeply-buried heart of gold, who kept wanting to make the right decisions... but ended up making the wrong ones time and time again. They never showed us, before this ridiculously cheap dramatic ploy, a man who willfully murdered people just for shits and giggles. Finally, Killian Jones is a motherfucking pirate. Stealing from the King is par for the course, but the whole “Dead men tell no tales” thing makes ZERO sense. Pirates thrive by striking FEAR into the hearts of their enemies, and you don’t get a solid reputation for being a cut-throat villain to be feared by literally killing off all the witnesses to your evil deeds. Pirates are like, one step short of going “BEHOLD! It is I, Captain PirateGuy, here to steal your gold and seduce your ladies! Be sure to tell all your friends and neighbors about this when we’re through.” So... yeah. Way to throw a completely nonsensical spanner in the works that makes literally NO sense and flies in the face of everything else you’ve said and shown about this character in the past. It’s shit, and I refuse to accept it, and they should be sorry for its very existence.

And then there’s Captain Swan. *sigh* This relationship fell prey to the same shit that ALL of Killian’s relationships were destroyed by throughout S6. Only it was much, much worse here - because this is supposed to be (and has been!) his closest, most important relationship. And yet... We see Emma blow him off and then lie right to his face in the very first episode. Then she lies some more in each of the next few episodes, and when her lies are finally revealed, she doesn’t even seem to give a shit about the trust she’s betrayed or the hurt she’s caused. And the fact that they even filmed that deleted scene with Emma giving Killian a flippant “I said I was sorry...” just shows how fucking tone-deaf those writers were. If someone lies to your face, repeatedly, over something of life-or-death importance and for a lengthy period of time, then basically gives you a “I said I was sorry, what more do you want from me?” twenty minutes after their lies are revealed, because you’re still sore about it... get the FUCK out of that relationship immediately, because that person does not give two shits about you.

Things only got worse when she snooped through his belongings, pushed him to propose on her terms and when she wanted him to (despite the fact that he was clearly drunk and troubled by something at the time), called off their engagement when he dared to keep something from her (despite the fact that she’d just recently spent weeks lying right to his face), believed that he would just abandon her completely despite everything they’d been through, lied to him again right before their wedding in the course of once again shutting him out and not letting him help her with something (even though that’s literally the EXACT reason she ended their engagement when HE was the one doing it)... I mean, come on. That is NOT the CS I signed up for, and I refuse to accept it as the CS that is my OTP.

Hence, the Dark Emma explanation was born in my head. And when it comes to changes to S6... I’d either completely re-write about 90% of S6′s CS storylines... or make my Dark Emma theory a reality. The theory is as such: Since Emma did not die in 5x11, but merely had her Darkness sucked into Killian/Excaliber before HE died... some residual darkness remained in her. Nothing much was seen/noticed in 5b (though Killian DID make a comment about her not sleeping...) because she was too focused on saving Killian. However, once she was back home, safe and sound with her man, the Darkness started showing itself. She lied to those she loved. She made uncharacteristically selfish decisions. She hurt people. She eschewed all she’d learned about letting others in and getting help from the people who love her. And it wasn’t until her literal and figurative death at Gideon’s hands that the Darkness was truly eradicated from her - and only THEN could she truly find her Happy Beginning.

Oh, and by the way, I also hate the writers for even HAVING Killian walk to the docks with a packed bag and even consider boarding the Nautilus and leaving town. No. Just... no. Having him even CONSIDER doing that is even worse than having Emma believe he WOULD do such a thing to her. It’s like they got the S6 writers out of a Cracker Jack box and not a single one had ever watched an episode of the show or seen this couple before in their lives. Their whole fucking SCHTICK is that he would NEVER abandon her, that he would follow her to the end of the world or time itself... and that, despite a lifetime of fears and abandonment issues, Emma Swan has come to TRUST that he would never leave her. YOU CAN’T JUST GO “LOL, THAT’S NOT TRUE NOW” AND EXPECT ME TO ACCEPT THAT SHIT. No. Fuck you. Fuck your entire season AND the boat it rode in on. Just... fuck, man. FUCK.

The wedding was nice, though. I loved the musical aspect. Everyone did great in it. It was a truly lovely episode in almost every way, although I didn’t care for Emma’s dress and especially not her hairdo. It was too stark, too severe, but somehow too fancy at the same time... and it seemed more Jen Morrison than Emma Swan to me. Other than that, though, it was lovely. Everyone looked lovely. The singing was lovely. The vows were lovely. Shame about the whirling black vortex of doom, though.

Speaking of things that suck, I would also like to set that fucking doily shirt that Emma wore in 6x17 on fucking fire. And she actually DARED to rescue my man in that atrocity. Did she not realize I would need to SEE that shitty article of clothing every time I admired that dashing rescue? Did no one think of the KWs of the world who would suffer from this fashion faux pas?!?!

Oh, and I hate that they literally had Emma burn Killian’s image in the curse and not have any kind of recollection. I mean, I get that they wanted Henry to make her believe, and the way they got him to do that was cute, but did they HAVE to show Emma looking at Killian’s picture burning in the fire and being like, “Eh, he might ring a bell, but not enough to bother thinking about for more than a second or anything.” I could’ve done without that scene, honestly, because it just comes off like, “This love isn’t strong enough to break through this curse!” and EXCUSE ME, but where’s the fucking fun in that? Haven’t any of those bitches ever read a goddamn fanfic?! LOVE BREAKING THROUGH A CURSE IS ALL THE RAGE, GUYS. That’s the kind of shit we like to read and see in our OTPs. What’s with this “Eh, let that handsome fucker on page 172 burn” shit??

Oh, but that scene where Fiona serves the charred remains of the book to Henry on a platter would need to stay. That shit was stone cold savage. That bitch came to play, and that scene straight up told you that she was NOT going to be sitting at anyone’s Thanksgiving table next year, asking someone to pass the potatoes like she was just named People Magazine’s Redeemed Villain of the Year or something. She meant business.

Finally, I think I would’ve ended the show with the S6 finale. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed S7 and I loved KnightRook and Wish Hook and all the excellent Colin content we got that year... but in hindsight, the Hail Mary play of rebooting the series really just didn’t work, and S7 ended up as the “extra chapter” the series itself didn’t need. It’s not that I would want to give up the awesomeness of what we had... It’s just that I feel like if we hadn’t had it, we’d be unaware of what we were missing out on anyway, but the series as a whole would’ve maintained more of its impact and dignity.

But then, we were blessed with Wish Hook and the wonders of S7 Hooked Queen, so... :D I mean, coulda shoulda woulda, I’ve got ‘em now and you can’t take that away from meeee...

[lilacmoon83]

Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 205: High Hopes

Emma sighed, as she looked out over the water and became lost in thought, absorbing everything that had happened. Despite knowing that everything her father did was for them, she was relieved to know that he had not really killed anyone. She knew him, both halves of him. She knew his lighter half would be horrified and would have struggled to live with such, even with her mother's love. And his darker half...she could see the strain was weighing on him heavily as well. Her father's darker half wasn't really evil, though he was much more willing to commit evil acts in the name of protecting those he loved.

Seth, however, was the real deal. He was a rare occurrence that had literally been born evil. He was without empathy completely and found delight in carnage on a daily basis. Her father had capitalized on that by using the chalice to give him spectacular fights and flashy executions to entertain him. But she wondered how much longer that would sustain a monster like him. If he demanded to see real blood and carnage, she wondered if even the so called evil half of her father had it in him to slaughter innocents. But she knew Arthur had no such conscience anymore and neither did Gawain. They could please the dark Lord with their savagery and if her father fell out of favor, she feared what Mephisto might try to do to her parents.

"We'll find them, love," Killian called from the wheel and she sighed, as she joined him there. She leaned her head against his arm and he kissed her hair.

"I know...we just need to find a way to interject ourselves into their lives in a plausible way. I mean...just showing up at their door isn't going to be the best strategy," she mentioned.

"Well...you have a law enforcement background," he said. She winced.

"In Storybrooke...that isn't exactly going to work out here. Plus, I mention Storybrooke, Maine and they run it through a government database and the debacle in Seattle will probably come up," she replied. He looked confused.

"It will?" he asked. He was still foggy about how all that worked, thanks to not waking up until the curse was broken and they had been in a rush to get through the portal. He remembered the National guard trying to get through Summer's shield, but had never given it much thought.

"Oh yeah...and the only reason I know this is because Doc and Happy are fascinated with all the conspiracy stuff. They listen to all those crazy podcasts and YouTube videos that people have made about that day. Apparently, the government has pretty much classified all the information about that day," she said.

"Yeah...I'm still not sure I know what that means," he replied.

"It means basically that they know more about that day than they're willing to tell the public and the official story they released is mostly crap," she explained.

"But...the public saw a lot of barking mad stuff that day," he said.

"Which is why there is so many people out there fascinated by it and the conspiracies are rampant," she replied, as she got an odd thought.

"Come to think of it...it's kind of weird that no one has recognized my parents from that day," she mentioned. He nodded.

"Yeah...they were in the tabloids a lot leading right up to that day and at the center of the whole thing. I'm sure the videos are still out there," he said.

"Yeah...but my Dad is working for the FBI now, according to Gold," she replied.

"So...you think they know?" he asked.

"They would have to," she replied.

"Then that would mean they are letting him work for them for a reason and they would have to be aware that he has no memory of Seattle," he deduced.

"Which means someone high up thinks they can use him for something," Emma said.

"Do you think they might try to use your Dad to get to Storybrooke?" he asked.

"Storybrooke...the United Realms...the God damn chalice...who knows," she exclaimed with worry.

"My Dad could be in some real danger...I don't trust those government creeps at all," she said.

"We'll find them, love," he assured.

"Yeah...there might be a couple people in the FBI we can trust though. They might know something or they could at least do some digging for us," Emma said.

"Angela and Nick?" he recalled the two agents that had been drawn into their world for a brief time.

"It's worth a shot," Emma said, as she dialed a number and hoped the agents had not changed their phone numbers in the last few years.

~*~

The girl fidgeted uncomfortably and tried to conceal her shaking hands, as she met the professor behind her dorm. This one was well on her way into withdraws and was easy to tempt when he promised her a hit.

"So...what kind of drug is this?" she asked nervously, as she kept looking around in paranoia.

"It's something new...but I guarantee you'll get the high you seek," Dr. Jenkins stated. If the girl had been in her right mind, she might have questioned the motives of a professor that was giving drugs to students, but for her, all she could think about was satiated her habit.

"A needle? I like pills," she mentioned.

"I don't have pills, but this will go into your system almost immediately. The effects are almost instantaneous," he promised and smirked knowingly when she offered her arm. He shot her up with his concoction and stepped back, praying that this was the right formula.

The thoughts in his head were so loud now that he hadn't slept a wink. He couldn't get her out of his head and all the things he wanted to do with her. He was convinced that she belonged at his side and he fantasized about her husband meeting some horrible end almost as much as he was thinking about being in bed with her. If he could just reign in his dark thoughts with this drug, he knew he'd be more stable and could finally tell her how he felt and convince her that they belonged together.

The poor girl began to convulse and scream at the top of her lungs, as she held her head in agony.

"What...what's happening to me?!" she cried out. He looked hopeful, as she seemingly started to phase, but as good as it seemed to be going, it quickly dissolved into horror, as the poor young woman began to convulse and vomit blood. She collapsed into her own pool of blood and began seizing, until her heart gave out and she expired.

The doctor angrily kicked the wall. He had been very careful and thanks to the chill in the fall air, he was wearing gloves. He concealed the dirty syringe in his pocket and quickly left the area. He was careful to make sure they were in an area just outside campus cameras. Another failure and another body. He was fairly certain that he could stay ahead of the cops, but the darkness in his mind was growing stronger and making him more erratic. He needed to find where he was going wrong with his serum, so it was back to his lab. He couldn't sleep anyway, so he would once again work through the night.

~*~

As he kissed her deeply, as per usual, she lost herself in him and only him. His fear for her and them all was tangible and that had translated to the impassioned and insatiable lovemaking that they had been engaged in now for hours into the night. Winter was beside herself in pleasure, as her husband made love to her with desperate passion. Finally, after hours of pursuing completeness and satiating their hunger for each other, they lay entwined beneath the bedclothes in their chambers, with Winter idly tracing the lines of definition on his torso

"My love…" she finally said.

"He put his hands on you…" he growled.

"But I am fine...thanks to you," she reminded him. But he shook his head.

"I should have immediately sensed you were in danger," he lamented.

"You have been preoccupied and your duties weigh heavily on you. I know this," she said.

"I didn't feel the danger to you right away...that's never happened," he admitted.

"My love...the incredible pressure you are under is crushing and you felt it the moment you stepped through the portal. You found me before he could truly hurt me," she insisted.

"Not before he struck you...I cannot live with that if it happens again. Next time...he could hurt you badly and I would rather die than let that happen," he said fiercely.

"You are being much too hard on yourself," she chided, as she kissed his lips tenderly. He sighed and pressed his forehead against hers, taking solace in her kiss and her touch.

"You are everything to me, my darling...I cannot lose you," he said.

"And you will not. I fear for you too, my love. I fear what Seth may do to you if we are discovered," she replied.

"Then we must prepare for the worst. If Emma does not return before he does, then you must promise me you will take Hope through the portal at a moment's notice," he said.

"Not without you," she replied.

"You must, my darling…" he insisted and she closed her eyes, hating everything about this.

"I promise...but I will not need to. Emma and Killian will soon return and then we will end that monster," she said, as he held her close. He could only hope she was right.

~*~

"Wow...that's some story and a bit out there. And that's coming from someone that runs one of the most trafficked conspiracy podcasts on the net," the man said, as he had coffee with the young FBI analyst at a coffee kiosk just outside the Boston FBI headquarters.

"I know what it sounds like, but I'm telling you that it's him," Trevor insisted, as he showed the man that was behind the Conspiracies Unearthed podcast on the Internet.

"That does look like him though...but he hasn't changed at all," the podcaster said.

"Doesn't that play into all the theories out there?" Trevor asked.

"Sure does...and you said he acts like he has no memory of living in Seattle?" he questioned.

"Yeah, but it's a pretty good act. I really don't think he remembers," Trevor said. But the man looked skeptical.

"He's an FBI agent...he's trained to lie his way out of anything," he said.

"Fair point...but this is a pic of his desk. Zoom in on the family photo," Trevor replied, as he showed him.

"Damn...that's her too and the kids. They actually look older too," he said, as he compared the photo to the video from Seattle seven years ago.

"It's definitely compelling...and I can use it, but more proof would be nice. Can you get anything else? Like a file or something?" the pseudo journalist asked.

"I'll try...but I can't get you his file. I'd get fired for that," Trevor replied.

"Listen kid...do you want to work for the system that hides this stuff from us forever or do you want to blow the coverup wide open on this thing?" the man asked. Trevor was silent for a moment.

"I'll see what I can get," he said, making no promises, before hurrying into work.

~*~

David stepped off the elevator that morning, with coffee in hand, ready for another day of painstakingly going through files of their potential suspect pool. It was frustrating, because he knew that if their unknown subject was devolving that it would not be long until they had another body.

"Hey...it's super agent," one of his co-workers called out. He sighed, but took the razzing in stride. He knew it was in good humor, but he was well aware that he didn't exactly fit in with some of the other agents his age in this division. A lot of them hung out after work together, despite some of them having families. But he always declined. Not because he didn't like them, but he just never had the desire to spend even more time away from his own family.

"Are you ever not going to call me that?" David asked.

"Maybe when you don't solve a case. Seriously...your case record is either pure luck or you've got powers or something," agent Ethan Chavez replied. He sighed.

"Probably luck then, because I definitely don't have powers," David said.

"Yeah...wanna test that luck? We're playing poker after work," agent Brian Dorsey asked.

"Ah...no thanks. I already spend eight to ten hours away from my wife as it is. I'd rather not spend even more time away from her," he replied. Dorsey shook his head.

"You're an odd one, Nolan. Most guys would jump at the chance for a night away from the ball and chain," he commented. David had to bite his tongue to keep from responding too harshly. Dorsey had quite the reputation around the office. He was married, but it was a poorly kept secret that he could often be found at the nearby cop bars and had little respect for any vows he had once taken to his spouse. He liked most of the other guys, but there was always that one and in this group, it was definitely Dorsey.

"I really hope you're not referring to my wife as a ball and chain," David warned, though he kept any malice from his voice. As expected, Dorsey wisely backtracked.

"Uh, course not...nothing but respect for the ladies," he said.

"You're such a douche canoe, Dorsey. You wouldn't know how to respect a woman even if your life depended upon doing so," Agent Danielle Harding commented derisively. David smirked at that, as he entered the conference room with his coffee.

"Agent Harding will be joining us today for an extra pair of eyes," Pat said, as she and Trevor entered the room. David noticed the analyst giving him more odd glances, but tried to ignore the quirky tech.

"I think I'm up to speed...but this seems like a lot of violence for a female perpetrator," Danielle mentioned.

"We thought so too, but we didn't want to narrow our field too much since these aren't your ordinary serial killings," David said. She nodded in understanding.

"Okay...let's get to it," she said, as her phone rang and she answered it.

"Donovan," she said and then sighed.

"Where?" she asked and David knew that meant they had another victim.

"We'll be right there," she said, as she hung up.

"Scratch that...we have another body. Boston College again this time," she replied.

"Harding...stay behind and narrow our list down to anyone that has access to the Boston College campus. Our suspect may have just narrowed our pool without knowing it," Pat said. Danielle nodded, as David followed his boss out.

"Summer's school again…" he said worriedly.

"He's escalating, which hopefully means he'll get sloppy and we'll catch a break," Pat replied, as they boarded the elevator.

"We'll get him," she assured.

~*~

"I really hope so, my angel, but I'm not sure this is possible," Fandral said, as they walked hand in hand to the library that morning.

"But Emma and Killian were able to get through whatever barrier the curse has put up," Rose protested.

"With a powerful spell and an added magical fog to conceal their escape. I'm not sure getting a message to another sector of realms will be plausible," he said.

"Except...I think it might," she replied, as they reached the library. But they were unpleasantly surprised to see that they had unwelcome company.

"Why are you here, demon?" Fandral hissed, as he drew his sword and guarded his wife.

"You weren't kidding...they're nearly identical to the Charmings," Arthur spat distastefully.

"We have come to return a book...a curious book we found in the Dark One's shop," Mephisto leered, as he dropped the large tome at their feet.

"You mean after you burned his shop to the ground?" Rose accused.

"Mind your tongue, pretty one or it might get snapped off," Gawain threatened, but that was a mistake, as her Asgardian husband moved with lightning quickness and lifted the demon off his feet by his neck.

"Threaten my beloved again and you will suffer the full wrath of my Asgardian might," Fandral warned, but the demon only chuckled evilly, as the warrior tossed him to the floor.

"Yes...we found it in the shop and curiously nothing else of real value. It is quite strange that all the Dark One's items of any value or magical importance have mysteriously disappeared, don't you think?" Mephisto questioned.

"We know nothing of the inventory the Dark One chooses to keep," Fandral refuted.

"No...but this book is definitely not his and came from here. A book on...ancient beings and star gems," he said in accusation. A shiver of fear slithered through them both and Fandral felt his dark presence, as he appeared behind them.

"It was me...I am responsible for that book leaving this library. Rose had nothing to do with it," Fandral confessed, as she clutched his arm.

"I expressly banned books like these and ordered they be stored away since, as even I was not able to burn this insufferable library to the ground," Seth growled.

"And the slip was mine, My Lord…" Fandral interjected, as the monster glowered at Rose.

"Silence…" he hissed, as he brought the Asgardian warrior to his knees with his mind meld.

"Fandral…" Rose cried, as she knelt beside him, just as Charming and Winter arrived.

"My Lord...allow me to deliver their executions as punishment," Charming said, as he shared a nervous look with his counterpart.

"No…" Seth refuted and fear rippled through them all. Mephisto smirked deviously.

"My Lord?" Charming asked.

"I have decided on a different form of punishment. Your execution would be far too swift for a grievance like this," Seth said, as he looked around in disgust.

"It pains me that not even I have the power to burn this library out of existence, but since it was created by the powers of many universes combined, it is beyond even my power. I do not like that," Seth continued.

"But I can install a new proprietor for the library. One that will do as I asked and store banned texts away from the masses," he growled, as he looked at the rulers of Andresia and Rose's uncle came into the room.

"I assure you...you shall not regret giving my Kingdom back to me, my Lord," John said, as he and Sir Hiss bowed deeply to him.

"You…" Fandral growled, but Seth's power kept him on his knees and John enjoyed the warrior's pain greatly.

"You and the lovely Rose Red have been a thorn in my side far too long. Finally...you both are about to get what you deserve," he hissed evilly.

"Yes...and the time has come to deliver that punishment," Seth declared. Rose cried out and buried her face in her husband's shoulder.

"My Lord…" Charming started to say.

"You will be silent!" Seth bellowed and he dropped to his knees, holding his head in pain. Winter fell beside him and her eyes met Rose's, astonished by how utterly broken she looked. She knew what was coming and her eyes were pleading with Winter's.

"The children…" Charming whispered. They would have to find a way to slip them out, but once Seth left, it would be easy to do so under John's nose.

"I hereby banish you both from the United Realms and cast you out into the All World River as I once was," Seth announced.

"And we know that you will likely survive such, Fandral of Asgard, but your wife will not," he hissed.

"And therein, you'll be delivered the ultimate punishment as you survive, while she dies in your arms and you are forced to hold her lifeless corpse and pray for a death you'll probably only receive after years of wandering the nothingness of the volatile river," he said with an evil gleam.

"Please...spare Rose. Kill me...but do not punish the mother of my children," Fandral begged.

"It is done…" Seth declared, as a portal was ripped open before them and the two were sucked away. Charming and Winter could only stare in horror, as their friends were gone and he turned to them.

"You will find me the Dark One dagger, my right hand or I will allow Mephisto's demons to rip your darling Winter apart however they please," he threatened, as Gawain ripped her away from him.

"Nooo!" Charming cried, but then he was holding his head in agony.

"Tell me where it is…" Seth demanded.

"I do not know what the imp did with it," he lied and Seth was not satisfied with that answer, before nodding to the demonic Gawain.

"Oh...this will be fun, pretty one," he hissed, as he grabbed her around the waist. Charming growled and tried to get to his feet, but the pain in his head wouldn't allow it. But a blast of orange magic hit him and sent the dark Lord smashing into a bookcase nearby.

"Impossible...you're dead," Mephisto hissed, as Aphrodite and James stood there, having come to their rescue. They had Fandral and Rose's crying children with them as well.

"Nothing is what it seems, demon...and your time will soon be up," the Goddess said, as Seth, now fully enraged, pulled himself from the rubble.

"You...you will pay for that, Goddess," he promised.

"Not today," Elsa said, as she froze all of them in place, as she and Leo arrived.

"That won't hold them long," she said, as Leo helped his father up.

"I knew it...I knew you were manipulating the great Seth and I will make sure you pay for your deception, Prince Charming," Mephisto growled. James threw a bean down and they all escaped through a portal. The entirety of the United Realms shook, as Seth roared in anger.

~*~

Summer walked onto campus that morning with a friend. Usually her dad dropped her off, but he had been called in on a case really early so she called a friend since the campus was in the opposite direction of Bobby and her mom's school.

"Thanks for the ride," she said.

"No worries...and looks like we have time to spare to grab coffee. You up for it?" her friend asked, as they saw the crime scene tape just ahead of them.

"Whoa...wonder what's going on there," her friend commented. Summer sighed.

"The reason my dad couldn't give me a ride. I'll catch up to you in a bit," she said, as she approached the scene.

"No trespassing from the public," the uniformed officer at the scene said.

"Relax Officer...she's the daughter of one of my agents," Patricia admonished, as she motioned the girl forward.

"Someone else died?" she asked.

"I'm afraid so, sweetheart...do you know this girl?" Patricia asked, as she showed her a picture from a file. They already had the gruesome sight covered with a tarp or she would have never let Summer near the scene.

"She kind of looks familiar so I've probably seen her around campus. But I'm sorry, I didn't know her personally," Summer said, as David came over and hugged his little girl.

"That's okay...I didn't think you would. She didn't exactly strike me as someone who would hang out with the same people you do," Patricia said.

"Daddy...are the students in danger?" Summer asked. David looked at his boss and she cocked her head to the side.

"To be honest, I'm not sure, peanut. But we'll be here most of the day, so for now, just go to your classes and then I'll be here to take you home. But it would make me feel better if you didn't go anywhere alone on campus," he said. She smiled.

"I have friends in most of my classes. I'll walk with them," she promised.

"That's my girl...I'll see you later," he said.

"Love you daddy," she replied.

"Love you too, peanut," he said, as he watched her go.

"We have to find who is doing this. Right now it's drug addicts, but what happens if this guy decides to try a larger victim pool?" David fretted.

"The profile would suggest that his desperation will increase, especially since he's back to not caring if it's students. Having more subjects would be appealing. So far though, it would seem that this serum has to be injected into the blood and there is one thing that struck me about our latest victim," Patricia said, as she opened the file.

"You found a friend of hers?" David asked. She nodded.

"I just got off the phone with her just before Summer came over. She didn't want to meet in person, but was surprised when I told her that her friend died from a needle drug. She said her friend was a pill popper. She never used needles...ever. She hated them," Patricia replied.

"Wow...so our perp had to be pretty convincing and she had to be pretty desperate to do a needle," David surmised.

"That's what I'm thinking, which plays more into our theory that this person is someone highly educated and in a position that naturally gives them trust and respect," she added. He sighed.

"Like a Professor," he said, as he became deeply worried.

"We'll get him. Now that he's back to students again...there is no more keeping this quiet. I'm going to deliver the profile. Then it's only a matter of time before our suspect goes for broke," she said, as he saw the reporters gathering outside the crime scene tape.

"Okay...what about her parents? Someone needs to talk to them," he said and she looked at him sadly.

"I'm afraid there's no father in her file and her mother is worse off than she is," she said, as she showed him the rap sheet on the mother.

"She's pretty strung out and probably doesn't even remember she has a daughter," Patricia said, as she went to make a statement with the press. He sighed, as the medical examiner van arrived and he supervised the scene, as they prepared to take the body away.

~*~

When they arrived through the portal, Eva rushed to her parents and they hugged her.

"Eva...you're okay," Winter said. She nodded.

"Paul and Hope are here too," she assured.

"And Henry?" Charming asked.

"We're fine too...gramps," Henry said, as he Ella, and Lucy were safe as well.

"Uncle James has been busy rounding everyone up," Leo said, as he hugged them too.

"Thank Rumple...he saw that Seth was on the warpath and headed for Andresia," James said.

"Unfortunately, we couldn't save Rose and Fandral," Aphrodite said sadly.

"Oh Charming…" Winter cried, as he took her in his arms.

"Then...our mama and papa are really gone?" Ben asked brokenly. None of them could find a voice to tell them.

"There may be hope, young ones," Hermes said, as she appeared and they ran to her, as she was like an Aunt to them.

"I was able to send a message in a bottle into the All World River earlier. I used an enchantment that gave it coordinates for New Asgard. There is a chance that Lady Sif will find it and send Thor to save them. The bi-frost will be their only chance now," Hermes informed them.

"Then...there is a chance they are still alive?" Carina asked.

"I cannot be certain, sweetheart, but we must not lose hope," she told her.

"Like my charges...yours are very strong as well. We must hope Thor will come to their aid and help them return to us," Hermes said.

"Does he know? About this place?" Rumple asked, as he and Belle arrived.

"Not specifically, but now he knows of our betrayal. We need to evacuate as many innocents here as we can," Charming said, as he looked to Anton.

"What is our bean supply like?" he asked.

"Fortunately, we have hundreds on hand. As long as he does not find us here," Anton answered.

"He can't access Bald Mountain without the dagger," Rumple said.

"Which he's soon going to realize isn't here in the United Realms," Regina feared.

"Which means he'll figure out we sent it with Snow and David," Robin deduced.

"You think he'll send one of his minions to Boston?" Belle asked.

"Most likely, which means we need to warn Emma. But firstly, we have to gather as many innocents as possible," Winter replied.

"As soon as he knows what we're doing...it will be difficult to evade him and his minions. And I don't think I have to tell you if he gets through one of our portals to this place...it's over," Rumple warned.

"Then we have to be very smart and quick," Charming said.

"We could create some weather issues...the three of us," Eva said, as she motioned to her twin and Elsa.

"She's right. A nice little snowstorm over Olympus, a tornado smashing through Nephilim, and a lightning event in Storybrooke could provide some cover," Leo suggested.

"I have more fog spells like I used on the Harbor to conceal Emma and Killian's escape. If I combine them, we could have a large enough blanket of fog to conceal us for a short time," Rumple said. Charming nodded.

"Mom...the reserve. He might attack it in retaliation," Leo feared.

"Your father and I will use the chalice to seal it off. Only someone of our bloodline will be able to get in," she promised.

"Everyone has their mission. Let's go," Charming said, as they all became very busy.

~*~

Seth's eyes bled yellow with rage, as he stomped around his Throne room atop Mount Olympus.

"They will pay...they will all pay…" he growled, as the structure of his palace trembled in his wake.

"I knew they had betrayed you, my Lord...I just couldn't prove it until now," Mephisto said, but he withered under the God's glower.

"Silence…" he snapped, as he continued to seethe.

"I want the dagger!" he roared.

"My Lord...if I may, the Dark One is crafty and it is possible that the dagger is not within this realm," Arthur said.

"What do you mean?" Seth asked.

"The brats...it would be just like that imp to send it with a child. He'd never trust another family with it," Gawain agreed.

"Then you two will go to the Land Without Magic. You will find the dagger for me and you will kill Snow White, Prince David, and their snotty brats! Without magic...they shall be no match for your demonic powers," Seth shouted. Arthur smirked.

"It would be our incredible honor to grind their bones to powder, my Lord," the former King said.

"And you're sure they have no magic?" Gawain questioned. Seth smirked.

"The foolish Winter and Charming were greedy and kept the chalice between them," he said.

"Excellent...we shall leave at once, my Lord...that is if you can provide us a way," Arthur said. Seth raised his hand and tore a hole in into the Maine woods that surrounded the concealment of the United Realms.

"It will be up to the two of you to find your way to them in a place called Boston. Make the mortals out there help you if you must," he said. The two nodded and walked through the portal, before it closed.

"And you...do not return to my sight until you have Charming's head in your hand! Kill them all!" Seth demanded. Mephisto smirked and bowed to him.

"It will be my pleasure to deliver his corpse to you and get justice for you, My Lord," he said, as he disappeared in a poof of smoke. Seth continued to seethe.

"This is my Kingdom! And they will all pay!" he growled, as he continued to stomp around his Throne room in a fit.

~*~

Fandral had never been so terrified in his very long life as he was in this moment. He held Rose tightly in his arms, as the All World River whipped them around violently.

"My angel...you must stay with me," he pleaded, as he breathed into her mouth again. He was the only thing keeping her alive and his air was not enough. She was fading fast and tears slipped down his face, as he realized that he was going to lose her. If he did, then he would beg the river for death.

"It's...it's all right, my love," she said, as tears slipped down her cheeks.

"You...can let me go. I'll always be with you," she rasped.

"You must save your breath...you must, my angel," he pleaded, as she weakly raised a hand to his handsome face.

"You must go on...for our children," she pleaded to him.

"I...I cannot lose you. I cannot survive that," he sobbed.

"You must...kiss me one last time, my love…" she requested and he could not deny her, as he crushed his lips against hers in the most passionate kiss ever.

"Rose...Rose please!" he cried almost uncontrollably, as she slowly slipped away in his arms. He had fought some of the worst scurges to ever exist and had faced battles that should have ended him without fear. None of that had ever fazed him, but losing her brought this warrior to the brink of insanity and he cried over her like he never had before.

"Please...all mighty Odin please!" he pleaded.

"I know you can hear me, Odin! I beg you to take me if you are going to take her!" he sobbed, as he buried his face in her chest and cried harder when he realized it was no longer rising and falling.

As if to answer him, a light suddenly was shining upon him. But it was not the long dead Odin that had come to put him out of his misery. He looked up through his tears and found his friend there, still with saddened eyes and a bit haggard, but he was there.

"She will not die today, my friend and neither will you. I will lose no more friends," Thor declared, as the bi-frost snapped them up and deposited them back in New Asgard.

Fandral gently lay Rose on the ground and a man that he recognized as Eric Selvig knelt down beside them.

"Please...I have medical training," he said. He nodded and he started pumping Rose's chest.

"I want you to breathe for her now," Eric instructed and he did so. After a few breaths, Rose took a strangled one of her own and her green eyes, those green eyes he feared he would never see again, opened.

"Rose…" he uttered brokenly and then looked up at them.

"I can never repay this debt I owe to you all," he said, as he cradled his beloved in his arms and she took starved breaths of air.

"Happy to help," Eric assured.

"He's right...we received the message from Hermes and not too soon at all it would seem," Sif said.

"Yes...what has happened in your realm to cause this?" Thor questioned.

"It is quite a story, but we will tell you everything. Perhaps there is somewhere more comfortable though?" Fandral asked. They nodded and rose to their feet. Fandral did as well and scooped Rose into his arms.

"Come...we'll get you substance and you can tell us of the calamity that caused all this," Thor said, as they moved toward his home.

~*~

Margaret smiled, as she watched all the students proudly display their projects and parents milled through the exhibits. So far, the science fair was off to a rousing start.

"Mrs. Nolan...look what I won!" one of her freshman students called, as they hurried up to the table she was at.

"Oh...that's wonderful Heather. I'm so happy for you," she said, congratulating the girl on her blue ribbon. She was a bit of an introverted girl and Margaret had hoped to make a difference with her by pushing her to apply herself and it had definitely paid off. The girl had more confidence in herself and her grades were up. It was the very reason Margaret had always wanted to go into teaching. She had always longed to make a difference in young lives and it truly felt rewarding to be a part of something like this.

"Well...it's not hard to see why that young student is a fan of yours. The science fair is a huge success and leaps and bounds over any previous event," Dr. Jenkins praised. Margaret looked shy under the praise though.

"There are a lot of moving parts here. I am just a small part of a lot of people working together," Margaret said.

"If you say so...but I think you are far too modest, Margaret," he said and she noticed the gleam in his eyes, not for the first time. She wasn't oblivious, but had hoped there was nothing behind the doctor's praise. She was a happily married woman, after all, but he seemed reluctant to remember such.

"Wow Mom...this is great," Bobby said, as he arrived from practice.

"Thanks sweetie," she replied, as she hugged him.

"I think things are winding down though and the projects have been judged, so I'm going to go grab my things from my classroom and then we'll head home. Your dad and Summer should be home by then too," she said.

"Okay...I'm going to go say hi to some friends while I wait," he said. Dr. Jenkins watched her leave the gym to return to her classroom and the voices in his head were too much. He tried to ignore his urges, but he couldn't and was soon following her.

~*~

Killian brought the Jolly Roger into port that afternoon. They had already attracted a lot of attention and the Coastguard clearly remembered their very distinctive ship escaping their custody years ago.

Fortunately, calling Angela and Nick helped and they agreed to help them when she explained the situation and met them at the docks. They used their badges and bypassed the Coastguard authority, which didn't make them happy, and led Emma and Killian to a nearby coffee kiosk.

"Thanks for flying in from New York on such short notice," Emma said, as she sipped at her coffee.

"Thank my recent promotion, though I'm a little miffed that I had no idea your father was working for the FBI," Angela replied.

"Yeah...that's what surprises me. I mean...someone higher up has to know he's the same person from Seattle," Emma replied.

"Yeah...and her name might be Major Patricia Donovan, though I agree that there has to be someone else even above her aware of all of this. Just no idea who," Nick said, as he put the file in front of them.

"That's her," Killian said, recognizing the woman.

"Yeah...this is the woman that told us she was going to be a handler for my parents before the curse took them. She also said she killed Cecily Clayton and took over her father's operation," Emma said.

"Yes...then our memories were taken and we've been under the curse for two years until yesterday," Killian added. Angela sighed.

"Your lives are insane," she commented. Emma snorted.

"Believe me...I know. So this Major Donovan...what do you know about her?" Emma asked.

"Not a lot...she's former military and seven years ago, after the whole Seattle debacle, she forced us to release all the information about that day over to her, including the Nolan files that the FBI has on your family," Nick replied.

"Yeah and they classified it all. You have to be seriously high up to get the clearance to look at their files or anything about Seattle. The FBI has done its best to bury information about that day and the official story explains it away as a severe electrical weather event," she explained. Emma looked at her skeptically.

"And people buy that load of crap?" she asked. Nick snorted.

"I think it's easier for most. But yeah...there is a lot of conspiracy stuff out there about that day and your family too," he replied.

"Yeah...we're actually aware of some of that. My sister actually keeps up on it just to keep us informed of what they're saying and stuff. And Happy and Doc get their kicks from it," Emma commented.

"Then you know that some of those crazy conspiracy guys are pretty damn close on some of it," he said. She sighed.

"Yeah...way too damn close," she replied.

"So...my dad is working for this Major Donovan on a task force?" Emma asked.

"Apparently so...in fact, Major Donovan just made a statement about some serial type deaths at major Universities in the Boston area," she answered.

"Serial type deaths?" Killian asked.

"Your Dad is investigating drug related deaths. From what information I could glean, there's a new drug that has the FBI lab baffled. It's not like anything we know. It causes wild hallucinations and causes the victims to lose their minds in seconds. Some of the victims were even screaming about hearing voices telling them to do bad things before they died," she explained.

"Yeah...total personality change," Nick commented.

"Jekyll and Hyde," Killian muttered, as he looked at her. She sighed.

"Yeah...we know who is doing this and he probably doesn't have his memories yet, but that doesn't mean my mom isn't in serious danger," Emma said.

"That's great...but if we just walk into the Boston office with this information, Major Donovan is never going to let us in on the investigation," Angela replied.

"Then I need to find my Mom...do you know where she's working?" Emma asked.

"We ran her name. She's teaching at a high school across town. I think your brother goes there too," Nick replied.

"That's where Jekyll is then. We need to get there and if I know my dad, it won't be long until he figures him out," Emma said, as they stood up.

"You think? I mean...I heard they still have dozens of suspects," Nick replied.

"Trust me...the minute my Dad sees Jekyll or whatever name he is going by here is on that suspect list, which I assure you that he is...he'll know it's him. He'll just know," Emma assured.

"For now, let's get to that school. Snow and even Bobby could be in serious danger," Killian said.

"We'll drive you," Angela offered, as they hurried to her car...

[ryder-s-block]

Jaig Eyes (Ch 29)

Jaig Eyes (29/?)

Can always read here.

------------------------------------------------

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Children of Jango

I was silent through the vacant halls, Hondo having evacuated his men to leave room for whatever nonsense was likely to ensue from Aurra’s plans. As I neared the bar, I heard Boba’s voice.

“I wanted Windu,” he said, likely having seen Plo Koon enter. “What are you doing here?”

“We can do this the difficult way, or the simple way,” the jedi responded, his voice deep and steady. “The choice is yours.”

“Bossk,” Aurra said, likely into her comms. “Can you hear me?” She paused a moment while he responded in her ear. “Execute the hostages if I give the word.”

I rounded the corner in the darkness, unseen from their circle of light. Boba stood behind the jedi, his pistol shaking in confusion and anger. Aurra sat across from the jedi, smirking.

Plo Koon didn’t seem bothered. “Unwise. You have already lost and you don’t even know it.”

“I am prepared to kill you, the hostages, even your little bounty hunter pet, Kida. Whatever it takes to get what Boba wants.”

“Sounds more like what you want.” I had to say, it was my first time really seeing Plo Koon, and I rather liked him already.

I flinched when I heard the sound of a lightsaber igniting. The room glowed green as Ahsoka leaped from the darkness behind Aurra, slicing her antenna and holding her around the neck. Boba reacted, holding his weapon against Plo Koon’s head.

“Don’t,” Ahsoka warned.

“Let her go,” Boba warned back. He sounded a bit like his father there, even if Aurra wasn’t worth it.

“No chance.”

“She won’t do it, Boba,” Aurra gloated. “She’s not like you.”

“She’s right,” Ahsoka allowed. “I’m not a murderer.”

“I’m not a murderer! But I want justice!”

Plo Koon replied darkly, “We are justice.”

“Enough,” I called, stepping into the light, my pistol at my side. “Boba, it’s time to put your blaster down.”

“No!” he cried. “I need Windu! He’s not here!”

“What are you going to do, Boba?” I asked, my voice soft. “Kill every jedi that comes your way until it happens to be him?” The boy hesitated, his gaze shifting between Aurra and I nervously. “Boba,” I tried again. “She doesn’t really care about you. She’s using you for her own benefit!” Boba looked offended, but I could see some realization in his eyes, too. “Put the blaster down, Boba. We can figure this out. Together. You and I.”

Just as Boba looked like he was about to lower the gun, Aurra spoke again. “Don’t listen to them.” Her voice was stern. Cold.

“No one will be harmed if you come quietly,” Plo Koon insisted.

Boba hesitated, watching Aurra shake her head at him. “I can’t let you die.” The desperation in his voice hurt me. He cared for her. Depended on her. It was how he should be acting towards me...not Aurra Sing.

“You won’t have to.” I watched Boba’s reaction to the bounty hunter’s words. She winked at him, a small, hopeful smile coming to his face.

“Boba, don’t--” I started, but it was too late.

“Aurra!” he screamed, firing his blaster at Ahsoka. The Togruta blocked it with her saber, but was quickly thrown backwards by Aurra. Plo flipped the table to block the bolts shooting from Aurra’s boot before throwing Boba back with the force.

I shot at Aurra as she drew her pistols, knocking one from her grasp before having to leap out of the way of her fire. Ahsoka blocked as best as she could with her saber until Plo came rushing in, slicing Aurra’s second pistol with his lightsaber.

“It’s over,” he growled, leveling the blue blade at her. “Surrender!”

“Aurra, now!” Boba yelled from the ground, sliding a disk across the ground. 

“Bomb,” Ahsoka said, the two jedi leaping away as the disk began to beep. Aurra leapt over it as it exploded, looking back at us on the ground.

“Boba, hurry,” she yelled, rushing towards the door. 

My brother, to my dismay, went to follow her, but Plo Koon dragged him back with the force. 

“Aurra, help,” he called after her, stuck under the Kel Dor’s massive hands. “Help me!”

She turned at the doorway, evaluating the room. I stared at her darkly, pistol in hand, mentally daring her to come back and try to rescue Boba. But I knew she wouldn’t. 

“Don’t leave me!” Boba cried as the bounty hunter ran out the door. “No!”

I knelt, cupping my aching side again as Ahsoka followed Aurra, Plo Koon turning the despaired boy to look at him. “The hostages,” I heard the jedi say. “Where are they?” The boy didn’t respond. “Boba, if you do not tell us where those men are, they are going to die! Innocent men!”

Boba said nothing, apart from a small, sad, “She left me.”

I panted, standing straight again, both of them looking at me. “Kida,” Koon started, his hands still on Boba’s shoulders. “You’re not looking well.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, my eyes sad. 

“Talk some sense into him,” he insisted, but I shook my head.

I looked away, out the door both Aurra and Ahsoka had fled through. “He won’t listen to me,” I said lowly, feeling the pangs of guilt and turmoil coming off my brother. “Bring him to Hondo. He knew Jango well. Maybe Boba will listen to him.”

Plo Koon guided Boba over to me as we started out the door. “You need a medic,” the jedi commented, Boba looking guiltily at me. Still, his mind was reeling with Aurra’s betrayal.

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “For now, I need to help save the hostages. I’ve got some payback to deal, too.”

“Revenge is not a good course of action,” Koon advised as we walked down the hall.

“That’s a jedi mindset,” I responded, giving the Kel Dor a look. “Good thing I’m not a jedi.”

We walked out of the hideout, finding Hondo and his men lounging beneath a tent. They were clearly set on being mere spectators of the game at hand. Frankly, a part of me respected that immensely. 

“He will not reveal the location of the hostages,” Plo Koon explained to the pirate, pushing Boba forward. “I thought you might talk some sense into him.”

Hondo glanced at me briefly before looking down at my brother. “Tell the jedi what he wants to know, Boba,” he said gently.

“Why should I help anybody?” Boba burst out. “I’ve got no one!”

My heart clenched as I looked away, Plo Koon glancing at me from the surge of pain. “I think you and I both know that isn’t true,” Hondo said, surprising me with his kindness. He stepped closer to my brother, glancing at me. “But it is the honorable thing to do. It’s what your father would have wanted.”

I fought back the burning behind my eyes as Boba’s mind reeled. He looked down at his feet, Hondo’s hand on his shoulder. He sighed. “One five seven nine,” he whispered brokenly.

“What?” Plo Koon asked, leaning closer. 

“They’re coordinates,” I breathed, turning immediately. “Hondo, I’m taking a speeder,” I called behind me as I raced to one, the engine roaring to life beneath me.

The pirate didn’t protest, but I heard a low murmur of, “Are those my guns, too?”

“Wait,” Plo Koon yelled after me. “Ahsoka can handle it! You’re injured!”

“I’ll meet her there,” I insisted, looking at Boba again. “Keep my brother safe!”

Florrum has a desolate landscape, more rocky than Tatooine, but certainly no more interesting. It didn’t take long, turning through the rolling stone crevices, to see the back of Slave I. As I maneuvered around the ship, I saw Bossk standing before the two hostages, rifle in hand. He turned to look at me upon hearing the speeder’s engine. I fired with my pistol, but he rolled out of the way.

Leaping from my speeder, that went careening away, I rolled painfully back to my feet, my pistol clattering from my grasp. The Trandoshan tried to fire at me, but I lunged, throwing my shoulder into him harshly. We grappled for the gun, both his biology and my injury helping him get the high ground easily.

As my legs were about to buckle beneath me, the sound of blaster shots filled the air, red bolts streaking past us. Bossk and I broke apart, diving out of the way of fire. Looking up, I saw Ahsoka jump from her speeder, lightsaber igniting in the air to slice through the hostages’ bindings. 

Admiral Killian grabbed Bossk’s rifle, aiming at the bounty hunter. “Don’t move,” he threatened as I found my feet. He glanced at me, giving me a small grin. “You arrived just on time. He was going to execute us.”

I waved dismissively, my injuries making it harder to breathe. 

“Are you-” Ahsoka started before stopped at the sound of another speeder. We all turned in fright to see Aurra’s speeder leaping over the rocks, the engine roaring. Aurra jumped from her speeder as it crashed into Ahsoka’s all of us flying backwards as they exploded.

I saw stars for a moment, looking up through the dust to see the bounty hunter board my father’s ship. My face contorted into a snarl. I dragged myself to my feet, kicking away Bossk, who was trying to gain some upper hand by grabbing me.

“We’ve got him,” the admiral insisted, leveling the rifle at the bounty hunter again. “Help the Commander stop Sing!”

I nodded at the two men, pulling the rifle I stole from Hondo off of my back. Ahsoka had jumped onto Slave I’s wing as Aurra lifted from the ground. Aurra pulled the joystick sideways, sending the jedi padawan tumbling down the wing. I heard the Togruta cry out, barely catching the edge and dangling in the air.

“Ahsoka!” I yelled, aiming my rifled at my father’s ship. I’d become who I was today around that ship. I was saved from slavery on that ship. I’d gone on missions with my family on that ship. And I flew away from Geonosis’ battle on that ship, my brother cradling the helmet of our dead father.

My jaw clenched as I pulled the trigger, knowing every weakness and strength of the fighter I’d spent so much time on. I hit my mark, making one of the engines sputter slightly. It allowed Ahsoka to find her footing again and slice through the wing with her lightsaber. Slave I careened sideways, Ahsoka winding up on the massive viewport. She cracked the window with her lightsaber before having to backpedal, blocking Aurra’s shots.

I aimed again, taking advantage of the cracking glass and firing my rifle to completely take it out. The viewport shattered as Ahsoka leapt from it, landing deftly beside us on the ground. I continued firing, trying to both hit Aurra and take out the navigation systems that would allow her escape.

I couldn’t be sure if I hit her, Slave I spiralling out of control. I could feel Aurra’s desperation. Anger. Fear. I lowered my rifle as I watched the ship, with Aurra aboard, soar over the horizon and crash in an explosion of smoke and fire.

I let out a slow breath, too worn out to even try to feel if she survived. All I knew was that we’d won. As well as we could have, at least. I put the butt of the rifle into the ground, leaning on it heavily as I stood to look at the group around me.

Ahsoka was already talking to Plo Koon, arranging a pickup at our location. The admiral and navigation officer were standing around Bossk, who’s claws were up on his head.

He hissed at me lowly, “Boba won’t forgive you for bringing down Aurra.”

I hummed, my free hand coming up to hold my injured side. “There’s a lot he won’t forgive me for,” I allowed, looking away.

“Master Plo is on his way,” Ahsoka announced walking over to me. “Are you alright?”

I nodded, but allowed myself to sit heavily, seeing as the admiral had effectively subdued Bossk. Speaking of…

“Hurting, Kida?” the Trandoshan hissed at me.

I scooped up a piece of debris next to me, lobbing it at the bounty hunter, nailing him in the head. “No thanks to you, osi’kovid.” I tried to have my tone be harsh, but it just sounded tired. 

I should’ve been happy, with Aurra dead. Or assumed dead. Knowing her, she would probably find some way to slip by and survive. I suppose I was concerned about Boba. The Republic would likely imprison him. 

It made sense...he did tty to murder a jedi. Multiple jedi, actually. Destroyed an entire jedi cruiser, killed clones, took members of the GAR hostage…

He had quite the repertoire at such a young age. I wondered if Jango would be proud or not. In the both of us.

I glanced up as the jedi shuttle appeared over us, the engines roaring as it lowered to land where Slave I had once rested. I knew one thing for certain...my father would be pissed about my helping destroy his ship.

“Come on,” Ahsoka said gently, offering me her hand. For a moment, I thought about rejecting her. It was that deep-rooted pride that insisted I do things alone. That I was strong.

But then my side ached deeply again, telling me that something was certainly wrong, and I took her hand gratefully. She pulled me to my feet gently, careful not to touch any of my wounds. As the gangway descended, the padawan helped me aboard, followed closely by Admiral Killian and his officer, both aiming guns at Bossk.

Bossk was put in the brig, but to my surprise, Plo Koon had allowed Boba to sit in the passenger area. Ahsoka escorted me to the small med bay, the robotic doctor immediately droning on about my injuries that I was already completely aware of. 

As the droid treated my wounds, I stared up at the ceiling, letting my thoughts drift through the ship. Ahsoka had joined Plo Koon in the cockpit as they navigated us back into the air, heading towards Coruscant. The admiral and officer were sharing the passenger area with Boba, but remained far from him. The boy in question was silent, his mind dark and brewing with uncertainty.

The medical droid finished up, laying new bacta patches over my wounds. He tried to give me an IV drip, but I brushed him off, insisting I’d hydrate on my own. In reality, I wanted to see Boba. Maybe he’d talk to me again...after all this.

I elected not to try and put all my armor back on, choosing to don a simple medical shirt I’d found in the med bay. It was too big for me, but I welcomed the loose fit, considering most of my body was rather battered at the moment.

Aware that my pants were still stained with blood from my side, I stepped out of the med bay and crossed the small distance into the passenger area. All three sets of eyes immediately lifted to see my tired face, but only one looked away quickly in shame and sadness.

“Kida,” Killian called, a small smile on his face. “How do you feel?”

I returned the gesture, stepping past my brother and towards the members of the GAR. “Like I was kidnapped and stabbed. I’m glad to see you’re both alright.” I saw the clone’s eyes drop to the cup of hot liquid cradled in his hands. “I’m sorry about Ponds,” I said gently, touching the officer’s shoulder.

He nodded at me. “Thank you. He was a good man.”

“He was,” Killian agreed, lifting to hand me a cup of the liquid. He then brought his cup to join mine in the air. “To good men we couldn’t save.”

“Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la.” Both Boba and the clone perked at my Mandalorian tribute to the dead. The clone nodded, muttering the same phrase under his breath. I took a drink of the liquid, coughing when my tongue met the hot sting of spiced rum. That was warmed, apparently.

Killian chuckled at me. “You didn’t think we were drinking caf, did you?”

“No,” I shook my head, clearing my throat. “And I’m glad that you didn’t disappoint.”

“Would you like to sit with us?” he asked, his tone more sober. Sad.

I was about to accept, but hesitated. Finally, I shook my head. “Thank you, Admiral. But I think I’ve been avoiding talking to my brother for far too long, don’t you?”

To my surprise, the old man smiled. “I agree.” He reached over, fetching another cup and filled it with the hot liquor before offering it to me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, taking the offering graciously before turning with a deep, settling breath. Boba was sitting near a viewport, his gaze settled on the stars that zipped by while we were in hyperspeed. “Thirsty?” I asked gently as I approached.

The boy flinched just slightly, but finally turned, his eyes downcast. “No.”

I sighed, sitting next to him and forcing the cup into his hand. “I insist. Drink.” I watched Boba’s jaw shift, torn between thanking me and cussing me out for thinking he needed help. Finally, he took it and drew a long swig before coughing.

“This is alcohol!”

I chuckled, leaning backwards and taking another sip. “What? You think Dad never drank some good spiced rum after a job?”

I felt the sadness ripple off of him over my comment. His thumbs brushed over the rim of the cup, thinking. “Aurra never let me--”

“I know,” I cut him off, remembering Aurra telling Boba that he couldn’t have a drink at Hondo’s bar. “No one can tell you what you can and cannot do, Boba,” I started slowly. “We’re adults now, Boba. Whether or not we like it or were ready. It’s just how it is.”

My brother was quiet, understanding what I said. Both of us were thrust into being on our own far too early. Forced to handle ourselves. To handle the pains of life without someone to help us. I was lucky and was gifted Jango for a long enough period that I began to find myself...discover what I could be.

Boba didn’t really get all of that, but he had a father through his childhood. Someone who loved him. I didn’t always have that.

Boba took a long drink of the rum, not letting himself cough. I watched him closely, seeing his brown eyes still avoiding mine.

Finally, I spoke. “I’m sorry, Boba.” The words came out as a whisper--broken and sad. 

My brother swallowed his rum, shaking his head. “I sent you away.”

“And I never should have let you do that.”

“Didn’t you just say that no one can tell us what we can and can’t do?” 

My eyebrows lifted at his small joke, a smile drawing up the corners of my lips. “Perhaps,” I admitted. “But I don’t count. I’m your sister. I should have taken care of you.”

The boy stared into his drink, thinking. He was so much like his father, thinking a mile a minute. Wise. Clever. But hotheaded. Passionate.

“A sister isn’t a mother, Kida,” he said slowly. Finally, he looked up at me, his eyes glossing. “I’m sorry I pushed you away. That I never came back for you. That I turned to Aurra instead. I was just…I was so…”

“Angry?” I offered, receiving a nod in return. “We can only hold anger for so long, Boba. After a while, it festers inside us. It turns us into things we never want to be.”

“You sound like a jedi,” he growled, his defensiveness coming back.

Still, I only lifted my eyebrow, chuckling. “I sound like a sane person,” I insisted. “Think about it. Look at what happened here.” I gestured to the room, aware that both the admiral and officer were listening. “Nothing good came of this plot for revenge.”

“I didn’t want anyone to die,” he admitted.

“Except Windu.”

He nodded, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “Except Windu.”

I dared to touch my fingers to his forearm, leaning to look at his face closer. “I’m sorry you felt so alone, Boba. I’m sorry Aurra made you feel that way. That I made you feel that way.”

“You didn’t,” he said, surprising me. “I always knew you were here. I was just angry. I blamed you, even though it wasn’t your fault. And then what you said at Hondo’s hideout...I realized I was wrong. I always was.”

“What you’ve done here, Boba,” I started slowly. “It was wrong.”

“You’re saying Dad wouldn’t have hunted a jedi,” he lamented.

I surprised him with a chuckle. “No, Dad would have killed the jedi on the first try.” Boba laughed sadly, meeting my gaze. “I’m saying that the way you did this was wrong. Revenge isn’t a good motivation for most things.”

“I’ve heard of things you’ve done in revenge, though.”

I smirked. “Well, two things. One. I was teaching a lesson in return for a wrong done against me, not getting revenge. Two. I’m an experienced bounty hunter. Unlike yourself.”

He harumphed at me, crossing his arms. But it only made me laugh more.

“Boba,” I insisted, nudging him. “You’re still young. I was still a slave at your age. That’s nowhere close to the hunter I’ve become now.” I turned him to face me, my hand on his shoulder. “It will come in time. But you must be patient. And,” I learned, shrugging. “Learn from someone who isn’t Aurra Sing.”

He chuckled, but sobered quickly. I tilted my head to meet his eye.

“Boba? Are you--”

He almost frightened me by lunging forward, his arms wrapping around me. My drink sloshed onto the jedi shuttle’s floor, but I didn’t really care. I immediately returned the embrace, tears springing to my eyes. I felt them flow freely--something I wasn’t really used to--as I tucked my face into his hair. His face was pushed into my collar bone, his muscles trembling with grief he had never properly dealt with.

I breathed him in. He smelled a lot like Jango. Metal, sweat, and a hint of the spiced soap Jango always had stocked in his lavatory. I smiled, feeling the moisture on my cheeks slip into my smile lines.

“Am I going to go to prison?” His voice was small. It matched a child better than the voice I’d heard him use in anger during this trip.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But if so, I’ll do what I can to keep you out of trouble. And to get you out quickly.”

“We could run away. Right now.”

I pulled back, still holding the boy, but far enough that I could look at his scared face. “I can’t do that, Boba. You know that.” I felt his anger, but he was tired of fighting with me. He had so little left. I touched his chin gently, forcing him to look at me again. “I think we can both agree that we’ve grown apart these past few years. But you are my aliit, no matter what. I’ll always be here for you. But we are very different people than what we once were.”

He nodded, understanding. “I’m sorry I let you be treated so badly.”

I smiled gently. “I’ve had worse. Stop apologizing now. You’ve been forgiven, by me, at least.”

“I can never forgive Windu,” he said lowly, with anger.

“Maybe not,” I allowed. “We all have things we hold on to. Things that will always haunt us.” I sighed. “I’m not asking you to forgive him, Boba. I’m asking you not to try and kill him, because that’s a good way to get yourself hurt.”

“Point and case,” he mumbled, gesturing to himself.

I hummed in agreement, smiling gently. As we sat, my rum forgotten on the floor, I felt Boba lean into me slowly. There was still anger inside him, but I understood that. What was good was that I no longer felt his lust for blood. For death. He was just sad. And tired.

I leaned back into my brother, letting him know that it was okay. That I was there for him. I knew he’d go to prison. I made a mental note to talk to Padme in an attempt to lessen his sentence, at least.

“Thank you, vod,” he whispered gently against my shoulder, his eyes closing. I smiled, not responding, my gaze set on the ceiling as my tears threatened to pour again. 

“When you get out,” I said gently. “We should meet up. I’d love to give you some pointers on hunting...if you want to hear them.”

I felt him smile against my shoulder. “That sounds nice.”

I let it fall silent between us, knowing the exhaustion the young boy felt in his bones. It didn’t take long for him to fall into a deep sleep, allowing me to gently move him off me and lay him on his side. I found a blanket in a storage compartment, laying it over his small frame easily.

Across the room, the navigation officer slept as well. Killian, however, was awake, smiling at me gently. There was a deep sadness in his face, but also a knowing respect. I gave him a small nod before cleaning up my cup and exiting out the back door. 

I made my way down to the brig, Bossk sitting behind the ray shield grumpily. “How nice of you to visit,” he hissed.

“We respected each other once, right?” I asked, throwing him off guard.

“You’re good at what you do,” he allowed. “Despite your choices lately.”

I hummed with some humor. “You had even more respect for my father.” He only nodded once. “Then do you care for Boba?”

“You want me to protect him.” Bossk wasn’t asking.

“You’re both going to prison.” I cut right to the chase. “He’s just a boy. And I can’t be in there to watch over him. Keep him safe for me. He doesn’t always want me around, and that’s normal...between siblings, and all. But he likes you. Respects you.”

He rolled his tongue, letting out the slow sounds of Dosh, most of which was hard for me to understand. 

“Please, Bossk,” I insisted. “I’ll even pay you.”

Finally, he shook his head, almost waving it dismissively. “I don’t need your credits,” he growled, quieting for a moment to meet my gaze. “I’ll watch over the boy. For him, for you, and especially for Jango. I swear it.”

I let out a breath slowly, nodding. “We’ll be landing soon. Thank you, Bossk.” I turned to leave, feeling the shuttle exit hyperspace, but I paused at the door. “But know this,” I said, looking back at the bounty hunter. “You made a vow here.” I gestured to the cell. “If you break that vow, know that I’ll guarantee you’ll regret the day you decided to even speak to me. Are we clear?”

The Trandoshan took a moment in silence, watching my firm gaze and clenched fists. “Crystal.”

I said nothing else as I left the room, making my way back the the passenger area as I felt the shuttle shift beneath my feet. We were in Coruscant's atmosphere. As I entered the passenger area, I saw Plo Koon enter opposite me, waking the navigation’s officer. Boba was rising on his own, looking to me groggily.

“You must put these on,” General Koon said slowly, holding out a pair of binders. I looked away, unable to watch helplessly as my brother was handcuffed.

The ship landed, the bright sun slipping in as the gangway descended. I looked out it, seeing we had landed at the prison. I breathed slowly, stepping back as Plo Koon guided my brother down the ramp. I followed, seeing a band of Fox’s boys as well as Anakin and Windu waiting for us.

The clones, their armor decorated in the deep red of the Coruscanti Guard, surrounded our group on all sides, marching alongside us. We came to a stop, Boba staring at the ground beside me as Windu approached.

The jedi knelt, looking my brother in the eyes. “I see now, I’ve done terrible things,” Boba allowed. “But you started it when you murdered my father!” I pressed my lips into a line. He and I had made progress between us on the shuttle. Perhaps that didn’t translate to here. “I’ll never forgive you.” 

I almost hummed aloud at that. Maybe that was my fault. I had told him he didn’t have to forgive the jedi. Just not try to murder him.

“Well,” Windu said, standing. “You’re going to have to.” I found myself frowning at him. That was a lot to ask of an eleven year-old boy. It sounded like the terrible things the jedi insisted were normal, to me. “Take him away.”

Koon touched Boba’s shoulder, pushing him forwards towards the prison. I felt my brother’s panic. 

“Boba!” I called after him, unable to run to his side under the jedi’s gaze. “Aliit,” I repeated from on the shuttle. “Remember that.”

He stopped, rushing past the guards and Bossk to run into my chest, his head pushed up under my chin. I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my nose into his hair. I took a long, deep breath, knowing it would be a while until I saw him again. And knowing that it may be the last time I smell Jango’s spiced soap.

“Come on,” one of Fox’s men started, but was stopped by Plo Koon’s hand. The Kel Dor watched patiently while I pulled away from Boba, looking him in the face.

“Kot, vod. Kot,” I said softly. He nodded at me, his face scared. Finally, he breathed deeply, matching my own calming breath, before his face settled into one of bravery. I gave him a smile before letting him walk on his own accord back to his place towards the prison. Bossk looked over his shoulder at me, giving me a small nod.

My fears settled slightly knowing that a bounty hunter as strong and well-known as Bossk was watching over my family.

I watched silently, Ahsoka stopping next to me, as we watched my brother enter the prison, surrounded by guards. I closed my eyes, not wanting to watch the doors close behind him.

-------------------------------------------------

MANDO’A

Osi’kovid-- shit head

Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la-- not gone, merely marching away (tribute to dead comrade)

Aliit-- family

Vod-- sister/brother

Kot, vod. Kot-- Strength, brother. Strength.

[thecharmingknightemma]

rules

Hello everyone! I'm sorry if this is long but it's necessary so that you can jump straight into writing with me even if Emma is nearly an oc or a stranger to your muses - and because I'm not English and want to be sure it's all clear. I've been writing for eight years and I'm known to be chill and accommodating but I am also extremely aware of what my preferences and comfort zones are so please read the rules.

My name is Ele, I'm 31, cis woman, super friendly, slow because chronically ill especially when it comes to ooc chat which require too much energy and focus from me, so while I love plotting and commenting threads don't expect ooc chats to be a priority if they aren't fully about the threads. This blog has sideblogs: 'monsterinamusicbox', sosadandyetsoamazing, musesonawhim, and more might come. 

This is an AU Blog so you don't really need to have seen OUAT because this is NOT canon Emma Swan, there is no Storybrooke, and the princess Emma who remembers what was meant to happen in OUAT will let you know everything that you missed; so you'll need to read Emma's bio, either her AU enchanted forest backstory OR the backstory from our world which can fit Marvel, DC and other shows, depending on which character you play (it's awkward to realize the other person has no idea of what I'm writing, like I said, this won't be Emma Swan even in our world, she's been raised by her parents).

There is another backstory for non Enchanted Forest crossovers that doesn't have an abusive ex in it, check it out if the original one is triggering for you. You can request it, no explanation needed.

update of July 26: due to my health and lack of time I can't try to plot with every single mutual even if I follow first, so I ask you to please give me a sign you read my pages and would like to rp. Either by liking my many plotting calls, sending me a meme, liking starter calls, anything will do. Often when I try to plot people haven't read my pages yet or don't reply, and it's a lost occasion to plot with people who are ready. Thank you for your understanding.

WHO I RP WITH

I’m mutuals only and selective. If I don't follow you and you try to rp I'll ignore you, because I get anxious about saying no. If curious you can find reasons why I didn't follow you back here. Memes and opens have no expiration date. Untagged nsfw = I unfollow. Some shows I prefer not to interact with because I don't know them or aren't into some of their themes: vampire diaries, teen wolf, riverdale, gossip girls and any zombie/demons show outside of IZombie, Lucifer and Buffy/Angel.

Between asterisks it's what only people who write ouat characters need to read, the rest is for everyone:

**If your character is involved in her backstory, you have every right to discuss details with me so you won't feel godmodded/forced to adapt to it! I will also change things connected to your ch, for example if I write with a Jefferson, Emma's bff will be Ariel and not Grace. I'd rather not interact with ocs that are supposed to be her siblings or children etc. Henry was never born so if you play Henry we should plot it out because my Emma can’t be pregnant as a kid or she will be a completely different character.**

In this blog due to backstory issues she would want Regina dead so I prefer NOT to interact nor come up with new aus in which she’s fine with it (I have 2 plotted exceptions and that’s enough for me), and same goes for people who are currently villains from any fandom, though in that case we can plot out exceptions in which they aren’t being villains; if they are a grey-area, aren't people who hurt her family, and if you are pro-redemption it's fine, if not Emma wouldn't submit to anyone or bother to chat, she will try to kill them or die, so no threads are really doable. She's also not the type to hang out/bother with characters who are rude to her or to insist if they want her to leave, or to support who keeps manipulating her, hurting people or doesn't seem to be helped by her presence at all but keeps coming to her with pain to share (the latter would get a therapist card). Basically: Killian Jones the way he was written in the show, or even a Rumplestiltskin who found Belle and chose to do better and so on are fine. Villains who will mistreat Emma, have hurt her family, or are currently hunting children for sport? Not good for Emma.

TRIGGERS AND WHAT I WON’T WRITE

Triggers will be tagged ‘name of the trigger tw’, you can always ask me to tag more AND tell me if something in her backstory makes you uncomfortable, so that I can find a solution (that issue is resolved/doesn't need to be mentioned) or tell you if it can't be skipped and you can choose not to write with me. I don’t write about miscarriage, toxic/abusive relationships and rape between my character and yours (temporarily evil due to magic/Dark One Emma being manipulative is fine, but rape is still a no). It’s not exactly a trigger but please tag your gore and body horror? The topic of hell is also complicate, I need you not to focus too much on torture and eternal damnation. And please, PLEASE, tag your daddy kink/mommy kink references ic and ooc. 

MEMES

I’d rather get asks when you want to start a thread, reblog all the memes you want from me. I will reblog from the source or send you one if you prefer it that way but I don’t care if you reblog them from me.

ACTIVITY

Sometimes I'm fast, some I'm slow, but you can have as many threads with me as you want, take your time, reply as much as you want as long as you give me enough to write, drop threads, send memes or not. I like icons but I don't need them to write, you can stop using them whenever. 

NSFW and relationships

NSFW of the smut kind will be tagged as such and usually put under read more. I don’t write smut with everyone, only with people I know ooc/feel comfortable writing it with. I love shipping but I DON'T FORCESHIP, FRIENDSHIPS ARE WELCOMED. My Emma is straight. I do not romantically ship her with Neal/Baelfire even in aus, in her dark witch verse he's a past love Emma Swan had. Happy to find out if a relationship works between my Emma and Killian (my nearly automatic otp if you don't write him darker than in canon), the Huntsman, AU Pinocchio, Jefferson, and more if there is chemistry, but friendship is open to any of them too. Here for crossover ships as well. I’d really appreciate if you could tag your Swan Queen and Swan Thief, thank you.

OTHER FANDOMS I LIKE

Due to potential aus or crossovers, as in princess Emma showing up through a portal or me writing aus to adapt to your fandom, I want to bring up that some of the shows and movies I know are/what she can be in them with small changes to her regular backstory:

AOS (she can easily be inhuman or an alien),

Avengers movies (and at least Thor, Cap, Iron Man and Hulk’s movies), Ant-Man, Captain Marvel (same as above),

the 100 (she’s too happy to be anything but someone who comes from an unknown village or comes from one of the unknown worlds),

Chuck (she can be an ordinary human being, enhanced person/semi-alien depending on who rps the Chuck characters),

Elementary (she can be a regular human or whatever you want)

Flash (she can be a metahuman),

Guardians of the Galaxy (Same as for Marvel),

Legends of Tomorrow (human, alien, metahuman),

Doctor Who (she can be anything),

Firefly: she can be anything (I can also shake things up with her being an alien/having powers OR by coming from the planet where fairy tales are real).

Galavant (same universe as the Enchanted Forest),

Supergirl (she can be an ordinary human or alien),

IZombie (human or zombie),

Lost (she can be anything anything)

Buffy and Angel but only the tvshows (human, witch, one of the many new slayers),

Timeless (human unless the other rper prefers a crossover),

Lord of the Rings (probably just princess Emma portal jumping?)

pretty much any famous sitcom like Friends, the Office, Parks and Rec, b99 (likely she can only be human unless asked otherwise).

Also Lucifer and Good Omens (she could be an ordinary human or it’s more of a crossover in which she comes from her own universe and has magic), and more I can’t think of right now.

[searchingwardrobes]

Happy belated birthday, @courtorderedcake​ ! I am so sorry this gift is late! It’s been a week, we’ll just say that, and I wanted your gift to be good. I know you have been through SO much difficulty, my dear, and I wanted to write a fic focusing on Emma’s tough past and her strength because I know you identify with her so deeply. This turned out going in a much different direction than I anticipated, especially with the Daddy!Charming at the end. Nevertheless, I hope you like it! I based this on the song of the same name by Pearl Jam, and the two lines I used at the end made me think of you, Court, as well as Emma: “She holds the hand that holds her down/ She will rise above.”

This fic doesn’t follow the season seven timeline simply because it makes my head hurt and it was just easier to ignore it. I also needed Emma’s past in the Land Without Magic to touch her in the present, and the whole “all the realms are in Maine” wouldn’t really work here. Therefore, this is three years after the season six finale. Henry is sixteen Neal Nolan is three, and baby Hope is two months old.

Summary: The past collides with the present when Emma gets an upsetting phone call. But she isn’t a lost girl anymore.

Rating: T for brief discussions of child neglect, emotional abuse, and alcoholism

Words: 3,500 and some change

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @jennjenn615​ @distant-rose​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @tiganasummertree​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @snidgetsafan​ @thislassishooked​ @branlovestowrite​ @scientificapricot​ @stahlop​ @hollyethecurious​ @shireness-says​ @winterbaby89​ @wellhellotragic​

Neither Emma nor Killian would say that their pasts were a faded, distant memory. Trauma just wasn’t that easy to get over. They would say, however, that this life they’d built in Storybrooke made the memories easier to handle. They had legit, “I’d go to hell and back for you”, family and friends. They had the home of their dreams where they could give Henry and Hope all the things they never had. They no longer felt the pang of hunger or the bite of cold.

Most of all, they had each other. Having each other meant sharing the burden of those memories for the first time. It was like peeling an onion, and Emma didn’t mean that metaphor in the usual sense. She meant the layers stung like hell, so they could only handle tiny bits at a time. It was okay, though, Killian told her. They had a lifetime together.

Taking the pain a tiny piece at a time was why the phone call came as such a shock for both of them. It wasn’t that Emma forgot about Hank, it’s just she’d never heard anyone speak of him aloud in almost thirty years.

Killian watched her face go pale, saw her arm go limp even though he could still hear a tiny voice coming through the speaker of her phone.

“Emma? Is everything okay?”

She dropped the phone without ending the call, and it hit one of the throw pillows and slid to the edge of the couch. Without saying a word, she headed upstairs, and Killian snatched the phone up and pressed it to his ear. The person on the other end was saying “hello? Ms. Swan, are you there?”

“This is Mr. - this is her husband,” Killian said. Though Storybrooke was no longer isolated from the outside world, Killian still essentially didn’t exist outside of its borders. Their marriage, though real in every way that mattered, wasn’t legally official outside of their little hamlet of fairy tale characters.

“Oh,” the woman on the line said, “well, could you just let her know that visiting hours end at nine pm?”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “Visiting hours?”

“Yes, if she’d like to come visit Hank Gregory. Her foster father?”

Killian sank to the edge of the couch. “Could you fill me in, please? My wife was a little - overwhelmed by your call.”

“Well, Mr. Gregory was admitted to Maine Medical Center here in Portland about two days ago with complications from both liver disease and diabetes. We’ve done all we can for him, but he’s been admitted into the ICU.” The woman took a deep breath, as if gathering her strength to get the next words out.

“I told your wife this already, but he doesn’t have a lot of time. We asked if he had any next of kin he’d like us to contact, and your wife’s name and number was all he gave us. He said she was his foster daughter?”

Killian rubbed the curve of his hook against his chin. No wonder the nurse phrased it as a question - this call likely wasn’t going the way she had envisioned. Across the room, Henry had discarded his video game controller and was watching Killian with a question furrowing his brow. Killian wished he weren’t so worried himself because it’s one thing for the man to have Emma’s name. It was quite another for him to have her cell phone number.

“Let me jot down those visitation hours,” he finally told the nurse, motioning to Henry to get a pad of paper and a pen. The lad dashed to the kitchen and fished them out of the junk drawer. Killian repeated the information from the nurse as Henry scribbled it down. After ending the call, Henry regarded him intensely.

“What was that all about? Mom seemed really upset.”

Killian sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not one hundred percent sure yet, Henry.”

***************************************************************

“Are you’re absolutely positive that you want to do this, love?”

Emma was clutching the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, but she nodded at Killian anyway. They were twenty minutes outside of Storybrooke, and she’d been completely silent the entire time.

“I need answers. The man treated me like shit for two years, and now, 24 years later, he calls out of the blue?”

Killian really wasn’t sure what to say, so he merely rubbed Emma’s arm with the curve of his hook. She smiled at the gesture, and her body relaxed. One of her hands released the steering wheel, and she reached over to grasp his. He lifted it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

“The bastard isn’t going to die without me getting a thing or two off my chest, either,” she added with a bitter chuckle.

There was a time a few years ago that the anger radiating from her and the harshness of her words would have him worried. His mind would have gone immediately to his own bitterness towards his father and the darkness that kind of path leads to. But now he knew better. Emma had faced the darkness and risen above it. He also knew she had to face her demons on her own terms.

“I’m right beside you, Swan, you know that.”

Her face relaxed and she turned her palm to lace their fingers together. She lifted their hands and pressed her lips to the back of his before letting go so she could put two hands back on the wheel. She bore right and soon the Bug was heading down 295 to Portland.

**********************************************************

Maine Medical Center was enormous, comprised of several different buildings. To make matters worse, parts of it were being renovated and construction zones were everywhere. They finally found the correct building, finally found a parking deck, and then walked what felt like a million miles to the ICU. Killian had never been anywhere but Storybrooke General, but this massive place had the same sterile smell and chilly air. He noticed Emma shivering and put his arm around her as they walked. She leaned into him, clasping his prosthetic hand in hers, his hook not exactly appropriate for the setting.

“Thank you for coming here with me,” she whispered.

“It’s what a husband does,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her temple.

His quip at least elicited a tiny chuckle from her. They approached the nurses station for the ICU, and Emma told them who she was and that she was here to see Hank Gregory. A smiling woman in her sixties whose spectacles reminded him of Granny Lucas led them to the correct room, which looked more to Killian like a glass prison. She eased the door open and called to the patient in the bed with a voice only slightly above a whisper.

“Mr. Gregory, you have visitors.”

The man’s eyes blinked open, and he turned his head towards the open door. He was covered in wires and tubes, and things blinked and beeped all around him. The nurse pressed a gentle hand to Emma’s arm.

“I’ll let you visit.”

Emma simply nodded, and Killian could tell she would rather flee. But she let out a long, slow breath and then took a step closer towards the man in the bed. His skin was pale and looked as thin as paper, littered in bruises. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks sallow, and there was a yellowish pallor to his face. He was mostly bald with only a few wisps of dingy gray hair. Killian glanced at Emma. She dropped her arms to her sides, and her hands were balled into tight fists.

“Emma,” the man said on a struggled breath, “you came.”

“How the hell did you find me?” she bit back.

The man’s eyes blinked, moist with tears. He looked sad, resigned, but not angry or defensive. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you over the years. Trying to, anyway. You can be a hard girl to find.”

“Yeah, I kinda pride myself on it.”

He ignored her jab, and smiled at Killian. “And who is your young man here?”

“I’m not ten anymore, Hank. This isn’t my young man, he’s my husband.”

“Killian Jones.” Killian gave the man a slight nod, unsure if he should attempt to shake his hand or not. He glanced nervously at Emma, wondering if she was offended by his polite greeting, but her gaze hadn’t left the man in the hospital bed.

“Nice to meet you, son.”

“He’s not your anything.” Emma propped her hands on her hips. “How. Did. You. Find me?”

He sighed, his head sinking even farther into his pillow. “I saw you in the papers a few years back. Emma Swan Always Gets Her Man, that was the headline. I’ve done some, well . . . work with computers, so I -”

“You obtained my personal information illegally, right? Did you know I’m a sheriff now?”

Hank tilted his head. “No, actually, I didn’t. Funny thing, I was following your career in New York, even found out about your son -”

“You stay the hell away from Henry!”

Hank ignored her “-but then the two of you just . . . disappeared. I held onto your number, though. When I gave it to the nurse, I wasn’t sure if it would even work. I was even less sure that you would come.”

Emma’s chin was tilted, and Killian knew what that meant. “Why me?”

“You’re all I’ve got left, Emma. You were my daughter, for God’s sake!”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your daughter. I never was.”

“Maybe not by blood, but I loved you like my own -”

“You don’t know what love even is!” Emma was shouting now, and Killian glanced nervously at the door. He wasn’t going to stop her, though. Obviously, whatever was pouring out of her had been bottled up for years. Hank was obviously not long for this world, and he knew better than anyone that his wife needed to say everything that had been left unsaid.

Hank was crying now, tears catching in the wrinkles that marred his face. “I didn’t treat you right, I know that, but I did love you, Emma. I did.”

Emma shook her head. “Really? You loved me so much you spent all of the money on liquor while I starved? Loved me so much you spent every waking moment in that damn recliner with the tv on? Do you know how many times I had to clean you up after you’d puked all over yourself? How many times I had to haul trash bags full of empty bottles out to the curb?”

“I know, I know!” Hank was sobbing now, his voice breaking as he struggled to speak. “When Denine and I took you in, we were gonna do it together. We were so excited to give you a home. But then she died, and I . . . she was my life, Emma. I was grieving so badly that I lost myself in the drinking, and -”

“I was grieving too!” Emma shouted. “And I was only ten!”

An awkward silence fell then, the sounds of the hospital machines louder within it. Hank’s gaze trailed to the ceiling, and his hands picked nervously at the thin hospital blanket. He let out a shaky sigh before finally speaking again.

“I’m dying, Emma. My liver’s useless, my kidneys are failing.” Groaning, he struggled to sit up in the bed, his right hand shaking violently as he reached for the blanket across his lap. When he yanked it aside, Killian’s eyes widened in surprise to see legs that ended in blunted stumps where feet should have been. Emma, however, didn’t react at all.

“Look at me,” Hank choked out. “I hated myself so much, I literally killed myself. Didn’t give a shit about my diabetes, so I lost my feet.”

“Serves you right,” Emma replied coldly.

“You’re right, it does,” Hank agreed, awkwardly covering himself back up and collapsing against his pillows. “Denine would be devastated if she saw me now.”

“She was good to me,” Emma whispered, hugging her arms around herself.

Hank nodded, tears gathering in his eyes once again. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was before it’s too late. I hoped that maybe we could -”

“Fine,” Emma interrupted him, “you got to apologize, but if you think that means I’ll forgive you, then I guess you’re gonna die disappointed.”

Emma completely ignored the broken man as he sobbed in the hospital bed, turning instead for the door and striding from the room. Killian followed her, but he couldn’t help glancing back at Hank Gregory with sympathy.

****************************************************************

Emma felt physically drained, yet a buzz of righteous anger still tingled along her skin. Killian, however, had fallen into a melancholy she couldn’t understand. They had decided to get lunch in the hospital cafeteria rather than drive around trying to find a place to eat. They had found a spot to sit next to a window looking out at a courtyard, and Killian seemed far more interested in watching the people walking past than the food in front of him.

“Hey,” Emma said softly, reaching out to grasp his hand, “what’s wrong?”

He gave her that smile that never fooled her because it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing, love, really.”

As if to try and prove it to her, he picked up his fork and speared a piece of broccoli. Not very convincing, however, when it never reached his mouth. Emma sighed and put down her grilled cheese.

“Yeah right, nothing.” She regarded his brooding nervously, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “Do you think I’m an awful person? To yell at a dying man like that?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. As difficult as it was, it had to be said.”

If anything, Killian’s words only made him look more depressed. Emma frowned. “But you think I should go back and forgive him?”

Killian shrugged. “I can’t tell you what to do in a situation like this. I confess, I wish you would, but . . . “

“But what?”

He finally met her eyes, dropping the fork with the uneaten broccoli. “Can’t you see it, Swan?”

Her brow furrowed. “See what?”

“Is there really that much difference between me and Hank Gregory?”

Emma couldn’t help it, a short laugh escaped her lips. “You can’t be serious.”

“A one-handed pirate with a drinking problem,” he grumbled.

“What?”

Killian rubbed his forehead, unable to look at her. “It’s what Pan said in Neverland when I told him you were finally seeing me for who I really am.”

Emma rolled her eyes, though she knew Killian was serious. “And you’re going to believe that psychopath?”

“Well, he wasn’t wrong. And here you are, refusing to forgive . . . an alcoholic with no feet.”

Emma’s eyes widened as his words sank in, then her face softened and tears moistened her eyes. “Oh babe,” she told him softly, grasping his hand again and rubbing his knuckles with her thumb, “you’re nothing like him. I’ve seen you drink too much, sure, but you’re not an alcoholic. You’ve never neglected me or Henry or Hope. You’ve done nothing but put us first.” She let out a long, slow breath, relieved when she saw a tiny glimmer spark in her husband’s eyes. “Hank ignored me, neglected me, yelled at me and called me names for two long, excruciating years.”

“Oh Swan,” he told her in a choked voice, “I’m not sure I was much better after losing Milah.”

“No, stop it,” she said firmly, grasping his prosthetic and his hand firmly in both of hers. “That may be true, but I know you, better than anyone. I have no doubt in my mind that if a child needed you, you would have been there. As a matter of fact, you did just that, for Neal - I mean Bae.”

“And then I mucked it all up like I always -”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Jones.”

He gave a small laugh, and ducked his head. Since she didn’t seem to be getting through to him, she got up, plopped right down in his lap and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

“Forget the past, remember? Isn’t that what we said on our wedding day?”

“Yes, but -”

“No buts. Hank Gregory was never a father to me. He sucked, okay? You, however, are the best father I could ever dream of for Henry and Hope.” She punctuated her words with a searing kiss, not giving a damn that they were in the middle of crowded, bustling Maine Medical Center.

****************************************************

Emma rubbed her palms on her jeans nervously as she watched the dying man through the glass of his room in the ICU. Killian put his arm around her and pulled her close.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

Emma nodded. “Yes. You were right, I did need to say those harsh words.” She turned to him and shrugged. “But they weren’t the only words. I guess I have too much of my parents in me.”

He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

With a steadying breath, she stepped away from her husband and opened the door. She had thought Hank was sleeping, but she had been wrong. He turned towards the door and smiled when he saw her.

“I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Yeah, well . . . “ Emma shrugged as she approached his bed. She stepped to the foot of it and grasped the edge with both hands. “I was talking to my husband, and he reminded me that people can change.”

Hank’s eyes brightened with hopefulness. “I have changed, Emma, and I was hoping maybe I could get to know my daughter again.”

Emma lifted her hand. “Please don’t call me that, Hank. I found my real parents, and they’re wonderful people. My dad and I especially are close. He and I -” she chuckled, surprised when tears rose up in her eyes thinking of David. “Well, we’re a lot alike. My mom definitely says so about a hundred times a day.”

Tears rolled freely down Hank’s cheeks. “Oh, Emma, I’m so happy to hear that. Knowing that, I really think I can leave this world in peace.”

Emma blinked, startled. “What?”

“I was such a horrible parent to you, Emma, and you were so innocent. I never forgave myself, and I tortured myself after children’s services took you away wondering what happened to you. Wondering if you ever found a family to love you the way you always deserved.”

Emma nodded, the tears flowing freely on her own face. “I have. I really have.”

“Anyone else besides Henry, your parents, and that handsome husband of yours?”

“Yes,” Emma said, pulling her cell phone out of her jacket pocket as she came around to the side of the bed, “my baby girl Hope. Here she is on the day she was born.”

Hank’s trembling hand came out to bring the screen closer. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is, isn’t she?”

An awkward silence fell as Emma pocketed her phone. She shifted her feet awkwardly, wondering if she could really spit the words out she had come here to say.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Hank finally said.

Emma’s face softened as she held his gaze. “Yes, I do. Not for you, but for me.” She took another deep breath and reached out to grasp Hank’s hand. “Hank, I forgive you.”

The man let out a long, shuddering breath, his eyes closing as he whispered, “thank you.” He must have been saving that breath for Emma’s words because as soon as it fell from his lips, every machine in the room started beeping. Emma was shoved out of the way as doctors and nurses rushed in to attend to the dying man. She found herself back in Killian’s arms, weeping against his shoulder.

**********************************************************

The drive home was a bit surreal with nothing but silence their companion back to Storybrooke. Emma didn’t think the feeling was grief - she’d known that, and God, she’d never forget it. Yet she did feel emotionally spent, and wrung out of all coherent thought. Killian didn’t seem concerned by her silence, content to watch the scenery go by and hum along with the radio. Occasionally, he would take her hand in his and give her a reassuring smile.

Emma was surprised when she saw the Welcome to Storybrooke sign - it was like she had driven home on autopilot. When they parked outside of their house, her heart flipped to see her dad’s truck. David came out on the porch before they had even exited the vehicle, Hope cradled in his arms.

“Snow needed to take Neal to t-ball practice so I -” David’s words were cut off when Emma launched herself into his arms. His free arm came up to cup his daughter’s head, and he was shocked to hear her crying against him. He looked to Killian with a startled expression and was relieved when his son-in-law gave him a small smile and a tiny nod that Emma was fine. Killian gently took Hope from him, grinning as the two month old squealed in delight. His arms free, David held Emma tighter.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” he finally asked her.

Emma pulled back, a smile lighting her face despite the tears. “Yeah, I am. Better than okay. I just . . . I love you, Dad.”

David swallowed back the lump in his throat. “I love you, too.”

She holds the hand that holds her down / She will rise above.

[tempestaurora]

WHUMPVEMBER #23: SELF-SACRIFICE

alright alright alright this is 4.9k so i suggest reading it on AO3. it has made me very emotional, very sad. if u like it pls reblog it so more people can be hurt too.

There is one gun.

 Pepper’s eyebrows bunched together as she came to. Consciousness was trying to elude her, and she barely had the energy to grab onto it. Ah – ah, there. A pain thumped around her head from where she’d been knocked out and it spliced at her in a flashing red light.

 There is one bullet.

 No – the pain wasn’t red. The red was coming from past her eyelids, pressing at them in repetitive pulses. Red. Red. Red.

 You may not shoot yourself.

 Red. Red. Red. There was a woman’s voice, distant and monotone. It was far underwater – or maybe she was; maybe she was beneath miles of water and this voice was on dry land.

 Someone must die.

 She was breathing though, and no water was filling her lungs. Air in. Air out. Pepper choked on it.

 If no one is killed, you all die.

 Her eyes shot open, gaze bouncing around grey concrete walls. The red was coming from a flashing light in a corner, far above her. The voice was clearer now.

 You have one hour.

Shit. Shit, what? Pepper choked again, rolling onto her back and staring up at the stained ceiling. Everything was grey here; grey, red, grey, red. The voice started up again. Monotone, female, icy.

 There is one gun.

 Pepper swore as she pushed herself up into a seated position. This wasn’t her world; wasn’t her job. It wasn’t like she’d never been kidnapped before – Aldrich Killian came to mind – but it wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be a part of her reality. Grey walls, stained with something brown, a flashing red light. This was not what she signed on for. She was a CEO, not a superhero – not, not-

“Tony.” The word came out choked as her eyes caught onto the body, slumped over nearby. Pepper scrambled over and before she’d even reached his side, she saw the next body over. “Peter. No, no, no-”

Above her, the monotone voice rang out again and again. Pepper was close to shoving her fist through the wall to get at it, to choke the life from the woman who’d sit down and record such a thing. The woman who must be watching them.

Pepper pushed the thought from her mind, climbing over Tony’s body as soon as she’d confirmed his pulse. On her hands and knees, she moved to Peter’s side, pulling him onto his back and searching his neck, his wrist.

“Come on, come on, come on- oh, thank God.” It was slow but steady and Pepper relaxed back, her breathing already pitched and difficult to even out. They were both alive. Tony and Peter were both alive.

Well, not for long.

Pepper’s eyes alighted on the gun across the room and she stared at it as if it would shoot if she looked away. Pepper crawled to her feet, finding them bare and missing the high heels she’d been wearing when the world had shaken and gone suddenly dark, and stepped across the room, the concrete harsh and cold against her skin.

She knelt down by the gun, eyeing the steel door it sat at the base of and the glowing red numbers of a countdown that sat above the door frame. 59:23.

Pepper picked up the handgun, her fingers slipping across the dark metal. A Colt revolver, her mind supplied. She moved her hands to the barrel – six cylinders – and swung it out to peer inside.

 There is one bullet.

 You got that right. One bullet sat alone in the chamber and Pepper snapped the barrel back into place.

“I’d rather you not use that,” a strained voice said from behind her. Pepper jumped with a sharp intake of breath, spinning to look at Tony, perched half up from where he was lying and moving to check Peter’s breathing.

“I agree,” she replied. The gun felt too heavy in her hand, despite the single bullet. There was too much pressure riding on it; too much unfortunate circumstance.

Pepper gently slipped the gun back onto the floor where she found it and moved back to Tony’s side, running her thumb gently over the angry red bruise across his cheekbone. It looked worse with the flashing red light.

Tony looked to Pepper, jaw tense. “I’ll get us out of this.”

She nodded once, silent. She knew he’d try.

 If no one is killed, you all die.

 “I hope that shuts up soon,” Pepper said. “The light’s giving me a headache.”

Still it flashed on. Still the voice continued on. Still Pepper worried her lower lip with her teeth and pretended not to see the fear in Tony’s eyes.

He was trying to open the door when Peter blinked awake at last, a groan at the back of his throat.

“Hey, sweetie,” Pepper smiled, cupping the back of his head as he tried to sit up. She let him use her to lean on and kept a hand in his unruly curls.

“Where are we?” Peter moaned. He used a fist to rub his eyes and Pepper’s heart swelled at the innocence of the action. He’s just a kid. Sometimes she’d forget that when she watched Spiderman on the news; taking down the Vulture, facing the Sinister Six, standing tall by Tony’s side at whatever threats came their way. Beneath that mask, he was seventeen, and he was a child.

“We don’t know,” Pepper said. “We woke up here.”

Peter frowned up at her as if noticing her for the first time. This was fair. Pepper wasn’t one to get kidnapped. In fact, she was the one who called the police or assembled the remaining Avengers whenever Peter and Tony got kidnapped – and they got kidnapped more than preferable.

“Are you okay?” he asked and God, Pepper loved this child.

“Yeah. I’m alright. What about you? You must’ve got knocked out hard.”

Peter shrugged and tried to straighten and move away from Pepper’s side, but she kept her hand in his hair and he relaxed back into it anyway.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I think they got us when we were leaving school.”

Pepper nodded. “I was leaving work,” she said. “Didn’t make it to the car.”

Tony had been standing by the door throughout, the clock ticking down already – an hour was such a short amount of time – looking over his shoulder at them occasionally but trying to find some purchase on the door. They all knew he wouldn’t be able to open it with brute strength – Peter neither, likely. People didn’t kidnap superheroes without thinking it through.

“God, May’s not going to even know,” Peter said suddenly, and Pepper frowned, actively trying not to think about May, who was no doubt waiting for her goodnight text as Peter was supposed to spend the weekend with Tony and Pepper. May who was likely going to be a little worried without the text, more so the next day when she called and no one answered – who would be alone all weekend with no knowledge of what was going on.

Or, worse, May who was called by the police when someone reported an attack on Peter and Tony outside the school, and was going to sit in a sick form of purgatory for the next while, unsure of the outcome.

Would it be all weekend? The clock only said an hour. Maybe it was an hour and then they’d go – or, at least, whoever was still alive.

When the clock reached 50:00, the flashing red light stopped and the voice ceased. It was eerily quiet without them; with just the sounds of their hearts thumping against their ribcages and their breathing – a little too slow for the situation.

Peter tried to pull the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. Eventually, he slumped down in between Pepper and Tony, who sat opposite the door, opposite the gun, opposite the clock.

“What are we going to do?” Peter asked then, and Pepper’s heart sank into her gut because she didn’t know. Because she wasn’t a superhero – she didn’t get into these situations. She didn’t know how to save the three of them, how to walk out of here just fine. She didn’t even know if anyone was coming for them-

Was this what it was like every time? When Tony was stuck in Afghanistan, sure that no one would find him in a cave? When they were taken only a few months previous and held in a chamber filled with masked men and blood-stained tiles?

Pepper had only felt a surety when she was kidnapped by Killian. She had no doubt in her mind that Tony would come for her. Not just because he was Iron Man, Earth’s mightiest defender, but because he was Tony, and he would never let her die. He would never leave her to be alone. Even when her insides had been boiling and Extremis had taken over, she’d been sure he’d come for her.

Even when she was falling into the fire, she’d been sure he’d find a way to catch her, even if he didn’t.

But this – this was uncertainty in its rawest form and it was terrifying. This was Peter’s hand clutching at her own, his head tilted onto Tony’s shoulder. This was silence, the voice vanished, a dark room and a glowing red clock counting down to their deaths. This was Pepper, not knowing if Rhodey was coming after them; if Vision was in the country to do so; if the police or the military would even have a chance; if the Rogue Avengers would be notified and even get here in time.

There was only an hour. Only Tony Stark could mobilise the whole planet in an hour, and he was stuck in here too.

So no one answered Peter’s question. No one told him what they were going to do, because there was nothing to do. It was shoot each other or die anyway. It was unload the only bullet in that gun into someone’s head or be shot as a family instead.

But May didn’t deserve that. May didn’t deserve to lose her only remaining family. She’d already lost Richard and Mary, already lost Ben – Pepper couldn’t let her lose her nephew too. She couldn’t. She and May had a sort of friendship that meant something to Pepper; she’d seen May cry, seen May at Peter’s bedside; seen her on bright days of sharing lunch at a café and warm nights dancing in a lively bar.

Pepper looked over Peter’s head to Tony and found him already watching her. They couldn’t let Peter die. There was no question about that. This wasn’t them waiting out the hour and dying together – this was saving Peter’s life.

So it would be one of them. Me or you.

Pepper blinked. Me.

She and Tony stared at each other until the clock hit 30:00, then Peter spoke up.

“They’re going to kill us if we don’t do something.”

“It’ll be fine,” Tony replied.

“No – no, it won’t. We can’t just- I won’t let us all die here. That’s stupid. That’s not how this goes.”

“We won’t all die here,” Pepper replied. She couldn’t say something placating like I’m sure someone will find us first – because she didn’t trust it. Because there was half an hour on the clock and if they had a few days then maybe she’d hold out hope. Maybe she’d say that Rhodey would get to them in time – but with thirty minutes-

Pepper was going to have Tony shoot her in twenty-nine.

“We won’t all die here,” she repeated, because that was the truth.

The three of them fell quiet and Pepper leaned her head on Peter’s shoulder and Tony reached his arm around both of them, and Pepper let her eyes close so she could focus on the touch of Tony’s hand, warm and calloused and so familiar in all the ways Tony was always familiar.

“You should kill me,” Peter said, and Pepper opened her eyes.

“I thought you were a smart kid,” Tony replied. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

“I’m serious.” Peter moved out from their grip and Pepper sat up before shifting closer to Tony because she was going to die in twenty-nine – no, twenty-eight – minutes and she was going to touch him all she could until then. Maybe her spirit or her soul or whatever part of her was eternal in the next life would still remember him, then. Maybe she could relax into that touch when she was dead and gone and it would still envelope her like Tony was doing now; his arm pulling her in close, his free hand holding hers.

“Look at you two,” Peter said, throwing a hand out. He sat before them, all angles and limbs; a ratty t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Mis-matched socks on his feet. “You- you- you two have your whole lives together. You’re like twenty years in the making, you’re getting married in like a month! I can’t! I can’t let either of you die for me.”

“Kid,” Tony said, letting go of Pepper’s hand to grab Peter’s. “You’re not dying today. Neither of us will allow that.”

“You have your whole life ahead of you,” Pepper agreed. “You’re so young, you can do anything – and you will! Tony’s always going on about how you’re gonna be the greatest mind the world has ever seen-”

“No,” Peter interrupted. “It’s – it’s you two. It’s always been you two. I don’t want either of you dying for me.”

“Well we’re not having you dying for us,” Tony replied.

They fell silent then and Pepper caught sight of the tears welling in Peter’s eyes. So young. So, so young.

“Come here,” she said, opening her arms for him. Peter didn’t waste time in falling into her embrace, curling around her and Tony; the three of them a knot of limbs and desperation and determination not to cry.

Pepper pressed her lips against the crown of Peter’s head, his hair soft against her cheeks. His shampoo was apple, she knew that like she knew Tony’s was papaya, like her own was mango. She let the first, lonely tear roll down her cheek and land in his hair.

“You’re going to be something incredible,” she whispered. “You really are. And we’re not- we’re not going to let you end that today. Queens would be lost without you and so would May. You can’t – you can’t do that to her, okay? I won’t let you.

She felt the way he nodded, felt the vibrations of his movements, of Tony’s. Tony pressed a kiss against Peter’s temple and said nothing. No words ever needed to be passed between those two – they were a cohesive unit; bound by something like fate or destiny. It hadn’t been a coincidence that they’d found each other and all three of them knew it.

So Pepper wouldn’t let Tony die today, because like May would be destroyed over Peter, Peter would be ruined by Tony. Pepper wouldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t let the brightest mind in New York lose his mentor, his father-figure, and she wouldn’t let Tony lose the only child he’s ever thought of as a son.

Pepper could write entire novels of reasons why she wouldn’t let Tony die today, but instead she stayed quiet, her cheek pressed against Peter’s hair and Tony’s forehead leant against her temple.

The clock hit 15:00 when Tony moved at last. Pepper shifted to look him in the eye, and they just stared for a moment, committing the way each other’s lips tilted and their brows creased to their memories. Tony had a small scar above his right eyebrow, a tiny mole on his jaw. She wasn’t going to look away but her eyes shut on reflex when he moved in and kissed her, slow and sincere.

There were novels and screenplays and academic essays on the reasons Pepper Potts loved Tony Stark; on all the things that kiss was saying; on everything Pepper had wanted to tell him, someday, but would now never get the chance.

When he pulled away, Tony cupped her face in his hand, tucked a strand of golden-blonde hair behind her ear and said, “I’m going to need you to shoot me, Pep.”

Her jaw tensed. “Fuck that.”

“Pep-”

“No.”

She sat up, felt Peter try to move too but kept him firmly in place, her arms tightening around him.

“Pepper.”

“Tony.”

There was a warning in their voices.

“I’m not shooting you, Pepper.”

“Well I’m not shooting you, so we’re at a stalemate.”

Tony sighed and Pepper knew that sigh intimately. She knew them all. She knew the ones that were bored of work, the ones that were annoyed about there being no milk in the fridge, the ones that were frustrated that he wasn’t being understood – this was one of those. She stopped speaking out of reflex; knowing that when Tony sighed like that, he wanted to explain.

“Pepper, I’m not letting you die today. I won’t do it. I’m not going to shoot you and Peter sure as hell isn’t – I just.” He reached out again, light knuckles on her cheek. “I love you so much. You’re it, Pepper. You’re everything. I can’t – I won’t make it through losing you. That’s a fact. If you die, I die.”

“Tony.”

“I know this is shitty and difficult, I do, but I can’t be the one to kill you. I still see you falling into the fire in my nightmares because I couldn’t catch you-”

“Tony, I’ll lose my mind if I have to kill you today.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

“Pepper, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. I’m not saying this won’t be fucking awful, but I know you. You’ll make it through. You’ll do amazing things and-”

“Not without you. Tony. I’m not doing this. I’m not shooting you. You’re going to shoot me, okay?”

“Not okay-”

“If you die, the entire world loses you, Tony. If I die, it’s just a company. But you – God, Tony. You never did know how much you were worth. Even when you thought you were the hottest shit on Earth, you still thought you were only the kind of shit on someone’s shoes. No – no, Tony. You’re Iron Man. You’re Tony Stark. You’re the only one this planet has that’s going to defend it. You’re the only one I have-”

“Pep.”

Pepper took a deep breath, swallowing. Her face was wet and tear-streaked, matching Tony’s, and she’d somehow let go of Peter during the argument, and he was sitting back and staring at them with wide, shining eyes. They were broken, all of them, facing a demise that they had to choose.

“Look at him,” Pepper said, nodding to Peter. She watched Tony hesitate before he did. “I can’t help him like you can. I can’t raise him like you can. He’s going to take on the world and I can’t help him do that. You can. You can teach him, Tony-”

Tony choked down some kind of laugh. “You’re fucking guilting me using Peter?”

Pepper bit her tongue and locked her jaw, meeting his eye. But Tony wasn’t angry, he was just deeply, horribly sad and he scrubbed at his face, his hands coming back damp.

“I can’t fucking do this,” Tony said. “I can’t fucking do this. I don’t – I don’t want to leave either of you, but I know, Pepper, I know I need to be the one.” He crawled closer, holding Pepper’s face in his hands. “The past ten years of my life, it’s been about saving people. I made Iron Man so people could be safe. So people could be protected, and I could never do that if you weren’t safe. If I couldn’t protect you. Pepper, if I don’t protect you now, then- then-”

Pepper kissed him. She kissed him and she cried and she grabbed at him to pull him as tight as she could because it was just him. It was always him. It was always Tony.

 There is one gun.

 The voice started up suddenly and Pepper broke the kiss.

 There is one bullet. You may not shoot yourself. Someone must die. If no one is killed, you all die. You have ten minutes.

 Pepper jerked her gaze to the clock. 10:00. The voice didn’t repeat its message.

She turned back to Tony.

He couldn’t kill her when keeping her alive had been his goal for so long, and she couldn’t kill him because she’d shatter if she did.

Pepper pulled him into a hug, a tight embrace where she held him with all her strength and felt him do the same back.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you more than anything.”

Tony pressed his lips against her jaw, her cheek, her lips.

Peter was crying. When Pepper and Tony moved apart, she pulled Peter into her arms.

Tony shifted into the embrace, too, holding Peter close to his chest.

“I should’ve done so many things better,” Tony said and Pepper tried to memorise the way his voice lilted across every word. His mother was a musician and she’d passed that down to him. He could play the piano with startling beauty, though she doubted he’d ever shown anyone besides her. “Peter, you’re going to be the greatest hero of us all, okay? When you want it – if you want it - the Avengers – they’re yours. They’re all yours. And SI. The company.”

“Tony-”

“Peter.”

“I can’t – I can’t do that. That’s yours, and Pepper’s, and-”

“Fuck, Pete. You’re already named as the heir, okay? Pepper’s gonna be with you every step of the way. You don’t have to take on the company until you want it, and even then Pepper’s gonna keep CEO until you feel like you’re ready for that. But, that’s yours, if you want that. Shit, shit – there’s so many things I want to say. Kid, kid.” Tony moved until he was face-to-face with Peter, holding his shoulders. “You’re good enough. You’re more than good enough. You’re Peter Parker and you’re the best damn thing in this world and I love you so much. You’re a son to me, Peter. I- I’m so fucking grateful to have you in my life.”

Peter barrelled himself into Tony’s chest and Pepper used the moment they held each other to swipe away the tears that were threatening to drown her. How could she agree to kill him? How was she even going to manage it? Putting a gun to her fiancé’s head and pulling the trigger? It felt unexplainable; it felt impossible.

She swallowed down the vomit threatening to rise and listened to Peter’s whispered I love you, I’m sorry, Tony, Mr Stark, please, I can’t-

“You can,” Tony replied. “You can do anything you set your mind to. Whatever you do in your life, I’m proud of you. I am.”

Peter stayed huddled against Tony’s chest, relishing in the last warmth he’d ever have, when Tony met Pepper’s eye. “I wish I could marry you,” he said. “I wish I could see you on our wedding day.”

“You’ve already seen me in the dress,” Pepper said. “It’s that Vera Wang one. You walked in when I was trying it on and you choked and spilt your drink.” Tony laughed for what it was worth, and Pepper smiled as best she could. “The moment you did that I was sold on it.”

She moved closer to the pair, sitting by Tony’s side, turned to face him. She pressed her forehead into his shoulder as his free arm pulled her in.

“You’re the love of my life,” he said.

“You’re the love of mine.”

“Thank you for saying yes to me. And for looking after me. For sticking by me through all my dumb shit, and for kissing me for the first time in front of Rhodey.” Pepper choked out a laugh into his shoulder. “I know this is gonna be awful, Pep. I know this is gonna suck a whole lot, and it’s gonna suck for a while after too. But I know you can get through it. I know you’ll make it out the other side, and you’ll continue to be the incredible woman that you’ve always been.”

“Tony.”

“I need you to do me a favour,” he said.

“Anything.”

“Look after Peter for me.”

She nodded into his shoulder. “Anything.”

“He’s a handful and he talks a mile a minute and sometimes he gets stuck in his own web fluid. There’s a few bottles of dissolvent in the lab, just ask FRIDAY where it is. I added a feature to the mark 56, too, which can spray it. FRIDAY has the specs for that. Keep him safe, okay?”

Pepper sniffed. “I’ll ask FRIDAY to make me one of those stalker apps where I track his vitals all hours of the day.”

Even Peter laughed into Tony’s chest.

Tony smiled and pressed a kiss into her hair. “Thank you. And you look out for Pepper, okay kid?”

“Okay, Mr Stark.”

“I thought we were at Tony! Peter! Come on!”

“Sorry Tony,” Peter replied, his voice muffled.

“That’s better.”

They were quiet for a moment and Pepper lifted her head, sparing a glance at the clock on the wall. 4:51. “There’s only one Tony Stark,” she said. “Only one you. Tony, you’re my favourite person and I’m so thankful, every day, that you’re in my life. I know the world’s going to miss you and they’re going to miss Iron Man – but I can’t imagine my life without you. I can’t – I don’t know how-”

“Pepper.” Tony’s voice was soft, his hand in her hair. “It’s okay. It’s alright. You’ll be okay. Focus on getting through each day and eventually they’ll become easier. Just- the world needs heroes, I know it does. It’s got Peter and it’s got Rhodey – tell him I love him so much, okay? Happy, too – but I just need you to know that there’s- there’s a suit. I made it for emergencies. Like this one, I guess – and it’s yours. You don’t have to use it, but it’s tailored for you. Ask FRIDAY for the Rescue suit.”

Pepper blinked at him. He made her a suit. He made her a suit. “Rescue?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You rescued me plenty of times. Felt right. Okay? Okay. I love you so much.” He pressed another kiss to her lips. “I wish I could’ve done everything with you. Kids, dog, goldfish.”

They held each other. The three of them. A tangled web of people who loved one another more than anything else.

When the clock hit two minutes – Pepper watched it with bile in her mouth – she pulled away and walked to the door, where she picked up the gun. Colt revolver. Felt stupid that she knew the term. Felt stupid that she knew how to snap the barrel out of position and check the bullet was in the right chamber. Felt stupid that she could click off the safety with her thumb.

She kept her finger firmly off the trigger when she moved back.

She kissed Tony for all she was worth, she held him as tight as she could.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he muttered into her ear.

She sat back as he said his final goodbye to Peter.

“I love you, Tony,” Peter whispered. “You’re my dad, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, Pete.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I wish I could save you.”

“I know. You’re going to be amazing, Peter.”

“Thank you for everything.”

Pepper swallowed her sob. The clock hit 1:00. 00:59. 00:58.

Pepper pressed a final kiss against Tony’s lips. She savoured him for everything she was.

“You’re my everything,” she told him. “In my whole life, I’ll never love anyone the way I love you.”

He smiled and it felt real. Pepper sat back on her knees, Peter leaning against her side. She checked the safety.

“It’s okay not to be strong sometimes. It’s okay.” Tony nodded at Pepper, once, firm. “Look after each other.”

He shut his eyes as Pepper lifted the gun. She should’ve known that he wouldn’t want to see her at the other end of a revolver, pointed at his forehead. Peter sobbed suddenly, and Pepper paused to pull him closer, a hand over his eyes, turning his head away from Tony Stark.

She should’ve known when she woke up that he would do this; that she would be pointing the gun and he would be on the receiving end of the bullet.

She should’ve known.

Tony Stark was nothing in not a martyr. Was nothing if not a hero.

“You are so loved,” Pepper said. She saw Tony’s muscles relax. She pulled the trigger.

 -

 -

She stared at the space he’d been, not at the space he now occupied.

The gun clattered to the floor and Pepper pulled Peter in tighter, not letting him look at what she’d done. Her hands were clean but when she looked at them, they were so, so stained.

The clock hit 00:00 and a buzz sounded, the door swinging open.

Pepper almost said let’s go home, but the words died in her throat. She’d killed their home. Their home was lying in his own blood.

She’d never be able to go home again.