#hug it only for the swan that used to be her mother to hiss and bat her wings.

[sadly-never-after]

My preferred outcome for Duchess destiny doesn’t involve suicide but something worse in my opinion.

I like to believe that the swan princesses that came before her literally turned into swans. That they slowly started losing their memories nand identities. I imagine it like a mental illness.

At first they are conscious of the change and of their misery but as time passes they become more animalistic. They forget words and later they forget they could speak a language at all. Suddenly they are more temperamental. At the beginning when their loved ones visited them, they would come near them and although they couldn’t speak they would listen, but the more days passed the faster they forget about their life as a human.

Deep down they know something is wrong about them but they no longer know how to even articulate that so it just manifests in excessive grooming and feather plucking.

When Duchess‘s was little her grandmother used to take her and would point to the swan that had been Duchess‘ mother but Duchess just saw a swan.

[elizabeethan]

Spaces Between Us Chapter 13: You & I

The hardships of real life separated them six years ago, and Emma has been struggling to put that fact behind her ever since. But then, only after she’s convinced herself that she’s moved on and that her new life is enough, Killian Jones comes back.

A Captain Swan Modern AU

Complete

As my grandma used to say,"theyah." (she meant "there" and she would brush her hands together, but she had a very heavy a Maine accent) 

Thank you to everyone who read this, and to everyone who commented, left kudos, liked it, reblogged it, sent flails.... you're the best!!

Thank you, as usual, to my beta and friend @the-darkdragonfly​, and to @donteattheappleshook​ and @xhookswenchx​ for listening to my ramblings and helping me figure out the plot to this <3

Read the Rest

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

His warm fingers tickle her awake, dancing delicately over the skin of her waist and making her giggle before she hisses at the bright sunlight stinging her eyes. “It’s too early for all that.” 

 “No it isn’t,” he argues, kissing a hot trail down her neck until his lips reach her breast. She swears she was wearing a shirt when she went to bed… “We’ve got to get up soon anyway.” 

 “Then why are you initiating what you're initiating?” 

 “I can be quick.” 

 She snorts, reaching her fingers into his thick hair and letting out an appreciative sound as he flicks his tongue over her nipple. “I’m sure you can.” 

 “Let me do my work in peace, please,” he chastises playfully as he drags his mouth down her stomach, tucking his fingers into the hem of her underwear and tugging them down her thighs. 

 “If you insist,” she sighs, letting her head fall back against the pillow and grounding herself as she scratches her fingers against his scalp. 

He certainly does take his work seriously, succeeding in his promise to be quick and getting her ready for him in just a matter of minutes. She pulls on his hair a bit harder and he lifts his head, looking up at her with shiny lips and a glint in his eyes before he wipes his chin and crawls up her body slowly, peppering kisses along the way. “Already?” he asks when he reaches her ear, and she giggles. 

 “You promised to be quick, I thought you’d be pleased to know that you delivered.” 

 “Oh, I’m very pleased. If there’s one thing parenthood has taught me, it's how to get my lady love off in a jiffy.” 

 “Shut up,” she laughs, though the sound is cut off quickly when he plunges himself into her, nearly to the hilt before he pulls back out and slides in again, slowly this time. She groans in appreciation for the way he stretches her, hitting everywhere just right as he sets a steady pace. 

 “I love you,” he whispers against the shell of her ear, tracing his tongue over the sensitive skin just below. “So much.”

 “I love you, too,” she whispers back breathlessly, then with a moan, “don’t stop.” 

 “You like it like this?” he asks, biting her skin and pushing into her at just the right angle. 

 She whimpers and nods, her nails clawing at his back. She’s so close already, his mouth bringing her halfway there before they’d even started, and when he reaches his fingers between them where she needs him the most, she cries out again. 

 “There,” she begs, her legs shaking as she holds him in place. “Oh, fuck, right there.” 

 When he whispers, “come for me,” with his tone commanding and gentle, there's little she can do but obey him. 

 He’s heavy on top of her, her chest heaving beneath him, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She loves being here with him more than just about anything. The way he kisses her cheek over and over while they catch their breath makes her heart flutter more. 

 “You don’t actually have to go, right?” she asks jokingly as she runs her fingers up and down his back. “You’re actually just going to work? Won’t Will be mad if you miss a day, Mr. Mechanic?”

 With a laugh and another kiss to her cheek at the charming nickname she gave him when his friend hired him to work in his garage, he answers, “I bloody well better go. I promised Ruby I’d be there and I certainly don't want to be on her bad side.” She giggles, though he continues, “and I want to watch that bastard get exactly what he deserves.” 

 She nods, letting out a long, steady breath. Walsh’s trial is today, and while Killian isn’t allowed to testify because of his relationship with the victim-- her-- Ruby has a lot to say about that evening. At first, there was talk of Killian being unfit to serve and having made irresponsible choices because of his emotional connection with Emma. But after Ruby’s accounts of that night and the body camera footage, it was clear that he acted as appropriately as he ever has. Walsh shot first, and the sheriff responded using non-lethal force. And besides, Killian left the force on his own accord, anyway. 

 At first, she was almost angry that he’d lived. Part of her wanted the surgeons to let him die; another part of her wanted Killian to have taken a better shot. But he was shot himself, so the fact that he got him in the shoulder was pretty damn good. Plus, Walsh will never be able to fully use his arm again. 

 And… he’s probably going to jail for a long time. Which would be cool, considering the amount of times he’s been beaten up already.

 “There’s too much going on in there,” he murmurs, kissing her temple. “Tell me what you’re thinking?” 

 With a shrug, she says, “just thinking about what happened. It’s been a long eight months.” 

 He hums. “Aye, it has. Hasn’t been so bad, though.” 

 “No,” she agrees softly. “But I’ll be glad when this whole trial thing is over. Maybe we can finally leave this place.” 

 “Are you implying that you aren’t a fan of my apartment?” he asks through feigned offence. “I find it to be quite quaint.” 

 “Oh, it’s quaint,” she giggles. “I just feel bad making Henry sleep in a closet.” 

 “It’s not a closet! I pay extra for two bedrooms!”

 With a soft smile, she cups his cheek in her palm and says, “I’m sorry, my love, but that is a walk-in closet.” 

 He rolls his eyes, then rolls off of her and offers her his hand to hoist her off the bed. “Soon we can get him a nice big bedroom, promise. Once the trial’s over, there’s nothing holding us here.” 

 It’s true. While they haven’t fully talked about where they’ll end up when all is said and done, Walsh signed the divorce papers from his cell a few weeks ago. And with the pre-nup null and void, Emma took her half of his fortune and donated it to an organization that supports victims of domestic violence and their children. 

 “Henry’s appointment is at ten, right?” 

 “Yeah,” she nods. Starting him up with Archie has been a blessing. Emma had a lot of fears that he would handle the transitions with difficulty, but with Dr. Hopper’s help, he’s been well adjusted, and she couldn’t be prouder. 

 They struggled with how to tell him about his father, but she never wants to lie to him. They moved out of their old house with haste, grabbing everything they could as quickly as possible so that Emma wouldn’t have to be there for a second longer than she had to. And while Henry was confused, he didn’t seem overly upset. He enjoyed living with the sheriff for a few days, even creating a comfortable nook for Abby, before they sat him down and told him everything. 

 When Emma told her son that the man who’s been in his life all along isn’t actually his father, she thought he would be upset. In reality, though, he simply shrugged and asked if Killian’s house had macaroni and cheese. 

 When Emma told her son who his real father is, a few days after they moved in with him for both safety and stability, he cheered and gave Killian the biggest hug she’s ever seen him give anyone. 

 She still can’t think about that day without crying. 

 “So Sherrie is actually my dad?” 

 Emma nods. “Yes, baby. I’m sorry that this is so confusing.” 

 He ignores her sentiment and asks, “and I can call him daddy?” 

 “You can call him anything you want.” 

 Turning towards Killian, he asks again, “can I call you daddy?” 

 The look on his face is so heartbreaking that Emma’s tears flow freely. Killian looks up at his son, meeting his eyes with glassy ones, and nods. “I’d love that.” 

 “Have you got one as well?” he asks, shaking her from her memories as she wipes away a rogue tear.

 “Wednesday. You’re okay to watch Henry in the morning, right?” 

 “It’s not exactly babysitting, Swan,” he reminds her gently, and she grins at the name he uses and the fact that it’s finally her name again. 

 “I know, but…” 

 “Go and see Ingrid on Wednesday, love. I’m glad you’re still finding it beneficial to talk with her.” 

 Honestly, finding a therapist who happens to have experience working with victims of domestic violence in this small town was a surprise to Emma, but she’s found her work with Ingrid to be invaluable. While she’s known all along that what happened wasn’t her fault, and that she shouldn’t feel guilty about what she and her son went through for all those years, it’s been helpful to hear that from a professional as well. Ingrid reminded her that, while the physical abuse happened only near the end of their relationship, Emma was being emotionally abused the entire time she knew Walsh. She was trapped from the moment she met him, little by little being gaslighted until she believed that she would have nothing if she left him. As hard as it was for her to see how toxic he was at first, it was even harder to imagine leaving when she thought he had so much power over her.

 The guilt that came with finding out she put herself and her child through that for nothing was unmatched. Her feelings and thoughts about herself as a mother, about how she failed to protect her son, are something she’s been battling for months and will likely never be able to fully let go of. Finding out that Killian is Henry’s father gave her the freedom to leave, but it also gave her the most traumatic experience of her life and brought endless feelings of self-hatred, and that’s something she’s been working on coming to terms with, slowly but surely. 

 “Alright,” she agrees, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips as she walks past him towards the bathroom. 

 “I’ll go give him his nebulizer while you get ready.” 

 Stopping short in her path to the shower, she turns to him and smiles. “I love you.” 

 Returning her smile with his own, he says, “I love you, too, Swan.” 

 In eight months, he’s become more of a father than Walsh was Henry’s entire life. 

 ~~~~

 As he watches Walsh being escorted into the courtroom, donning his orange jumpsuit and shackles, Killian is reminded of the last time he saw the man who almost took everything from him. It was months ago, once he was finally transferred to the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department’s jail cell. He was still clearly favoring his left arm, his right shoulder completely out of commission as a result of Killian’s rather good shot, and he felt a sick sense of accomplishment seeing the monster struggling to get comfortable on the firm cot with the sling wrapped around him. 

 “Need something?” he’d asked, although he wasn’t too chuffed to give the bastard anything that would take away his obvious malaise. 

 He scoffed and responded, “yeah, my pain meds would be nice. Are you always in the business of torture?”

 “Aye,” Killian responded without thinking, then he stood up and walked to Walsh’s cell, keys in hand. “I suppose I am. But I really only focus on torturing the absolute most wretched inmates. Like you.” 

 Walsh shook his head and laughed, but Killian didn’t miss the look of fear in his eyes as he inserted the key and swung the cell door open, shutting it behind him. “Talk about protect and serve.” 

 Killian hummed in response and nodded as well as he moved to stand over Walsh’s cot, staring down into his eyes with anger, the strength of which he won’t ever feel again. “The fact is, mate, I couldn’t care less about my duties as the sheriff. Not when the safety and happiness of my son and the woman I love are on the line.” Walsh laughed once more and rolled his eyes, so Killian moved quickly to thrust his open hand down upon his neck, pressing just hard enough to make the animal’s eye pop from his head. “You threatened them. You tried to kill her. You neglected the child you thought was yours for his entire life. You are garbage; a waste of oxygen. Trust me when I tell you that I will do everything in my power to ensure that you never live to see the light of day. You will never take a breath outside of a barbed wire fence. You will never eat anything but the slop they feed you. You will never experience pleasure for as long as you live. And I promise you, you will live for decades in an iron cage, right where you belong.” 

 He was quiet for a moment as his cheeks started to turn red and his eyes grew wider, before he finally gruffed, “I can’t breathe.” 

 “Perfect,” Killian responded. “Then you know exactly how she felt. Count yourself lucky that I’m not going to try and shoot you again.” 

 He released his forceful grip, shoving Walsh down onto the cot as he took in a forceful breath, before he turned and locked the cell, walking back to his desk and collecting his things. When his shift ended, Killian Jones walked out of the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department precinct for the final time. 

 ~~~~

 Henry’s birthday is definitely cause for celebration. He’s turning six. It’s the first time Killian will be able to celebrate his son’s birthday. He’s finally with his Emma, with nothing stopping them from being happy together. There’s a lot for his family to be happy about. 

 “Daddy!” Henry calls as he sprints at full speed towards his father. “Daddy, can I have cake yet?” 

 “No, not yet. You haven’t even touched your lunch. And don’t let your mother see you running wild like that.”

 His more intensive therapies have been working as well as they can, but they know they have to be careful to avoid another serious attack-- one that might not end as well as the last had. Killian only just became a part of his son’s life. He doesn’t intend to lose him. 

 “But it’s my birthday,” he complains, rolling his eyes and giving him a look that could rival his mother’s. 

 “Your birthday isn’t until Monday.”

 “Well, it’s my tarty.” 

 “Your party.” 

 “I think I wanna ask mommy.” 

 Killian chuckles. “If mommy doesn’t tell you to wait until after lunch, I’ll give you five dollars.” 

 His eyes light up and widen immediately, cloudy gray perfectly complimenting the black pupils as he turns from him and runs straight for the door. He watches from the deck as Henry begs and pleads with his mother, giving her his best bambi eyes, before he sees her nod, the lad jumping for joy and shrinking excitedly. He runs towards the sliding door and pounds his fists against it, shouting through the glass, “you owe me five dollars!”

 With a sigh, Killian brushes past his son, ruffling his hair just a bit, before he wraps both arms around Emma’s waist, pulling her in for a hug from behind. “You really got me there, Swan.” 

 “Did I?” she asks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

 She leans back into his chest, turning her head so that she can press a soft kiss to his jaw. “No? Are you telling me our son didn’t inform you of my poorly-made offer?” 

 With a giggle, she answers, “of course he did. That’s what you get for trying to negotiate with our six year old.” 

 He squeezes her a bit tighter, reveling in their loneliness in the kitchen. “He’s still five,” he reminds her, content to never let him grow up.

 “Yes,” she hums. “And what a big difference the two days will make.” 

 He pushes his lips against her cheek and says, “I’m afraid he’s getting too old. We’ll have to return him soon.” 

 “And what,” she laughs, “trade him in for a newer model?” 

 “Aye, that’s the price of fatherhood most men aren’t willing to pay. But I’m not like those other men.” 

 She doesn’t need to be facing him for him to know that she rolls her eyes. “You are absolutely ridiculous.” 

 “--ly in love with you,” he corrects. She does spin around now, turning to face him and burying her face in his neck as her arms hold him in her iron grip. “What is it?” he whispers into her hair more seriously. 

 “Nothing,” she responds softly. “I’m just… happy. It still surprises me sometimes. That we’re here and celebrating our son’s birthday together; that nothing’s stopping us.” 

 “Aye, love, me too,” he agrees, running his hands up and down along the contours of her spine. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” 

 “You won’t ever have to,” she reminds him with a smile as she pulls away just enough to look at him. “We won.” 

 He grins down at her, running his thumb along her cheek as he holds her jaw with his palm. With her ex-husband being found guilty on all charges, his life sentence without the possibility for parole means they’ll never be apart again. “Yes, my love,” he says, leaning down to kiss her chastely. “Let’s simply avoid the scorned husbands and attempts on both of our lives in the future, aye?”

 She agrees with a nod. “Yes, that sounds like a good plan. Fucking idiot got exactly what he deserved, though.” 

 He laughs and says, “as eloquently put as always. I couldn’t agree more.” 

 As it turns out, the prosecution lawyer was very experienced and was able to use Walsh’s statements of intent to kill his wife, as well as the loaded gun pointed directly at her and at the sheriff, to prove two counts of attempted second degree murder, plus assault with a deadly weapon, plus domestic violence, plus election fraud, plus embezzelment. Suffice it to say, Walsh won’t be seeing much daylight for quite some time. 

 Of course, the honorable man in Killian almost thought that sending his mistress’s husband to jail for life as a means to be with her was taking the cheap way out, but he got over those feelings very quickly. It’s not about Killian being with Emma, after all. Not really. 

 As their son laughs raucously on the swing set with his cousin, he sees exactly what it’s about. 

 “I suppose we should do the cake,” Emma finally sighs, lifting her head 

 “I suppose,” he concedes, squeezing her tighter in his hold and pressing a kiss to her temple. 

 ~~~~

 The afternoon rolls into evening, everyone finding a lawn chair or chaise lounge to relax in as David starts a fire and Mary Margaret prepares for an outdoor movie. Honestly, Killian’s son is spoiled with the grandeur of his sixth birthday party, with the giant white screen and the projector displaying The Good Dinosaur for all the children to enjoy. 

��Emma sighs happily as she leans back against Killian’s chest, taking his wrists in her hands and pulling his arms around her middle. She feels warm against him as the fire heats her skin and her sweatshirt, and he can’t get enough of the feeling of the weight of her body pressed to his own. 

 “I love you,” she finally whispers into the dark as the movie starts, the sounds enough to drown out her voice so that only Killian can hear.

 “I love you, too,” he agrees softly, sentimentally, squeezing her just a bit tighter. “More than just about anything.” 

 “Just about?” 

 He hums out a laugh and nods. “I’m afraid I love our son just a tiny bit more than you. That’s normal, right?” 

 “Yes,” she agrees softly, turning to face him and pressing a kiss to his neck. “I’m afraid I love our kids more than you, too.” 

 He smiles and laughs lightly against her, returning her soft kiss with one of his own as he sighs and looks on at their son happily enjoying his special day. “Wait,” he says as it finally dawns on him; the specific wording she chose and the coy smile she dons through a giggle. “Kids?” 

 She hums in agreement, nodding against his chest and pulling his arms tighter around herself until his palm is pressed to her stomach. “I found out this morning.” 

 “Emma,” he breathes, unable to comprehend her meaning. 

 “I was thinking if it’s a boy, we could name him after your brother. At least his middle name. Thoughts?” 

 “Emma,” he tries again, separating his arms and pulling away only far enough to help her turn towards him. “Are you…” 

 “Shh,” she insists, pressing her finger to his lips and grinning at him and she turns to face him head on. Then she whispers, “it’s a secret. I’m pregnant.” 

 He can’t breathe, a shocked sound coming out of his mouth as he leans towards her and captures her lips in his. She grins against him, holding onto the neck of his sweatshirt to pull him impossibly closer to herself. “You’re sure?” 

 “I’ll call the doctor on Monday to make an appointment, but I took three tests. All positive.” 

 “Fuck,” he breathes almost silently, trying hard not to alert those around them of their shift in mood but finding it near impossible. “Fuck, I love you. I thought…” 

 She shakes her head, cradling the back of his neck in her hands as she answers his silent question. “I probably never would’ve been ready,” she explains. They’ve talked about it in passing, and she’s insisted that her last pregnancy was difficult and that she’s still recovering from the trauma she’s endured and is therefore unable to consider the possibility of having another child. “If I had a say, I probably would’ve kept putting it off,” she whispers. “But… surprise.” She shrugs and grins at him.

 He kisses her, because he can think of no other way to express his feelings towards her than to show her what she means to him. There are no words to tell her exactly what she’s given him, not just now, but every second he’s known her. No words, except, “marry me.” 

 She giggles breathlessly, the air escaping her lips hitting the tip of his nose as she gasps, “what?” 

 With a grin, he responds more seriously, “marry me. Please.” He clears his throat and tries again. “Emma Swan-- love of my life, mother of my children-- will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” 

 “You’re serious?” she breathes softly, careful not to alert the other parents present of the sudden shift between them. “You know I just got divorced, like, two months ago.” 

 “Aye, but I should've asked you to marry me seven years ago. The divorce is merely semantics.” 

 She laughs breathlessly again, disbelievingly, and nods her head before pulling him close to her. “Yes,” she whispers against him before pressing a passionate, if not also chaste, kiss to his lips. He can tell that she wants to deepen it, perhaps she wants to take him inside and show him how excited she is, but they're at their son’s birthday party and they have to keep things G-Rated. PG; nothing higher. “Yes,” she says again. Then once more, “yes, I’ll marry you.” 

 Andrew Liam Jones was born seven months later. He was monitored closely throughout Emma’s pregnancy to ensure proper development of his lungs, and when he was born, he screamed like a banshee to alert his parents of his healthy arrival. He weighed seven pounds, three ounces, and was twenty-one inches long. His big brother, newly renamed Henry David Jones following an amendment to his birth certificate, refused to leave the baby’s side until he fell asleep, needing to be carried out of the maternity suite by his uncle while his parents took in the bliss and terror of having a new life to care for. 

 Emma and Killian were married two months after the arrival of their second child, the small ceremony taking place on the secluded, rocky beach in Storybrooke, Maine. At first, Killian wanted to remove his family from the hellish town that nearly stole his life away from him, but she disagreed. This was where they were reunited. This was where they found each other again. This was where she found herself again. It’s where her children were born and raised. So, when she finds a beautiful, blue victorian style home on the outskirts of town and cries at how perfect it is for their family, at how close she would be to her sister, they place an offer. And they win. 

 They won when they found each other again and they know that they will never lose at anything ever again so long as they have each other. 

~~~~

~~~~

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

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (1/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 8.3K and just a lot more than originally planned AN: It’s me. Incapable of writing a multi-chapter until starting a new job, and having other prompts to fill, and I really will fill those other prompts, so prepare yourselves for an onslaught of Christmas fic. Of which this is only kind of that. It takes place at Christmas. But also involves time travel, and way more canon divergence than I’ve ever written, and kissing. Because of who I am as a person. Blame @klynn-stormz​​ if you must. Or don’t, because she sent a very good prompt and is very nice and I hope she enjoys this mess of words. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

————

She’s so goddamn hot. It’s absurd. And disgusting. But mostly absurd. 

Sweat pools at the base of Emma’s spine, drips down the sides of her cheeks and falls from the edge of her jaw. Makes her skin crawl, the kind of heat that’s far too oppressive and she’s already having enough trouble breathing, so all of this seems like overkill. Which is Neverland’s schtick, she imagines. 

Licking her lips doesn’t help. Moving is a lost cause before she’s even considered clamoring to her feet, and she’s genuinely not sure if she’d be able to unbend her knees anyway, crouched as she is in whatever foliage surrounds the mouth of the Echo Caves. 

It smells. 

The foliage — and Emma, she supposes. Most of her thoughts drift away from body odor rather quickly though, right back into that cave and she can’t figure out who made the cell Neal was in, but she also told Neal she wished he was actually dead while he was in that cell and she figures that makes her something of an asshole. 

Feeling clenches in her chest, quite possibly the physical manifestation of her anxiety and growing fear and every single second that passes is another second they haven’t used to find Henry and—

“Ah, shit,” Emma hisses, not able to get her sword out of its makeshift scabbard in time. Maybe she shouldn’t keep it on her back. 

Hook lifts his eyebrows. 

“Are you alright, love?” “Shut up. What are you doing out here? It’s not your turn to watch.” Scoffing, he lets his tongue trace across the front of his teeth, which is only vaguely obscene, and Emma’s far too warm to deal with this. In both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word. It’s ridiculous that he’s still wearing his jacket. “Aren’t you hot?” she asks, words tumbling out of her before she’s really considered them and she wishes that trend would stop. 

Quickly. Immediately, even. 

Not crying after her mother’s Echo Cave admission might be one of Emma’s great accomplishments to date. 

“Should all of your statements sound so much like insults?” Hook quips, his tongue continuing to torment Emma. Staring at his tongue is becoming something of a very real issue for her. 

Presumably because she’s now all too aware of what that tongue is capable of, and they’d been very good at kissing. Each other, specifically. Better than she thought, honestly. And she refuses to acknowledge how often she thought about it. 

She still hasn’t been able to get her sword out of its scabbard entirely. “I’m going to take your rather pointed silence as confirmation of the insults,” Hook continues. Rocking forward, the edges of his jacket threaten to brush Emma’s bent legs and she honestly has no idea what she’ll do if that happens, so leaning back seems like a reasonable response and not one that’s going to make his eyes do that thing. Where they dim ever so slightly, teasing disappearing and evolving into understanding she both hates and wants on some sort of fundamental level and—

“I’m sorry.”

On the nonexistent list of things Emma doesn’t expect, that might be numbers one through seven. Maybe even up to eight. 

“You don’t—” she shakes her head, hair sticking to her skin in the process, “Well, no that’s not actually true, because you probably shouldn’t have said anything about the making out—” “—I don’t believe I used that particular phrase.”

He actually has the gall to smirk when Emma glares at him, eyebrows twisted in the kind of unspoken challenge that regularly makes her stomach flip. Emma doesn’t have time for stomach flipping. She’s got to find her kid. Possibly get, like, twenty-four minutes of uninterrupted sleep. “Even so,” Hook adds, “it was…” There’s enough fabric on that monstrosity of a jacket that Emma can only imagine he’s got plenty of pocket options to stuff his hands into, but his thumb just finds his belt loop and the exhale he lets out is rife with emotion. The same kind she’s trying to avoid, in tandem with the stomach flipping. “Your father keeps glaring at me.”

Laughing is a patently absurd reaction to that. 

Her father is dying, apparently. Or tethered to this island, and that’s not much better, but it absolutely does not surprise Emma that he’s falling directly back into overprotective and if she’s going to be the asshole she absolutely is, then she should also probably admit how nice it was

to be hugged with that kind of determination before. 

That might not be the right word. 

Whatever, it’s the thought that counts. She thinks she might be able to fall asleep if her dad were here. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Emma lies, barely opening her mouth. Like even that can’t believe what she’s trying to claim. “Although I am sorry about my dad, I can—I mean I can say something if you want.” “No, no, that wasn’t what I was suggesting, at all. I’m sure the prince has better things to worry about than—” “You and me?”

Hook hums. Keeps his thumb where it is, and his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. 

Her stomach noticeably sinks. 

“Of course, not—no, I just…” Stammering Captain Hook catches Emma off guard, eyeing the toe of his boot as it digs a fairly impressive divot into the ground that is no doubt staining her jeans. And she’s about to do something, really she is. Say something almost positive, or reassuring, or maybe simply jump back to her feet, bent knees be damned, so she can grab the lapels of that nearly-offensive jacket and kiss the ever-loving daylights out of him. Again. But something snaps behind her, and every single inch of Kill—no, no, Hook, still Captain Hook. 

That’s more unimportant syntax. 

Because all of him tenses as immediately as Emma had been hoping for before, a soft noise on the wind that’s strong enough to ruffle those sweat-drenched strands of her hair. Her mouth goes dry, the laughter making her pulse sputter traitorously and Hook’s sword all but flies out of its scabbard. 

“Emma, you need to move,” he says, calm as anything. It’s an act. She knows — can tell even when it appears the jungle is getting darker, and the stars above them are going out, but then again, she’s always been able to tell with him, and it’s very disappointing that her rather dramatic swallow doesn’t do anything to help the state of her mouth. 

He used her name. 

Eventually that will feel very important. 

“What? Why, it’s—”

“Please, love,” Hook presses, “I need you to come with me. Right now. How long have you been out here?” Shrugging is harder than Emma expects it to be. As if the heat is actually a weight, pressing directly into her shoulders and rooting her exactly where she is. “We need to move, Swan. You shouldn’t be here.” “Well, that’s kind of rude.”

Widening his eyes makes it even more obvious how blue they are, and they are so ridiculously blue sometimes Emma wonders if she could simply drown in them. Sometimes that doesn’t seem like all that unappealing a prospect. 

God, he was good at kissing. 

“You told me to shut up earlier. Turnabout is fair play, darling.” “Running the gamut of nicknames, aren’t we? Is that a power move?” “Endearments, really. And no, it’s not. Disappointing that wasn’t clearer what with my intention to apologize and make sure you were alright.”

“Sounds suspiciously like playing knight in pirate armor.” “Can’t imagine armor would be very comfortable. Not much freedom of movement, you see.”

She laughs. Without thinking too much about the sound, mostly because the sound seems to bubble out of Emma and that’s not right. She doesn’t bubble. She stews, and sits and—

Something springs from the ground. Spring is generous, honestly. Cracks form under Emma’s splayed out fingers, tiny green vines that file up with a smell that make her vision swim and her senses fog, and she’s dimly aware of a hand on her shoulder. Tugging her forward, but Emma’s legs simply are not interested in functioning, and she’s so comfortable here. Standing seems even more unreasonable than before, especially when all of her inhales come with that scent. Reminding her of something she can’t quite understand, and it’s suspiciously similar to the tide coming in, and he’s still yelling. 

And swinging his sword. Light gleams off the blade, probably because whatever is pushing out of the ground is also glowing, and Emma’s mind can’t really cope with glowing plants right now. 

She squeezes her eyes closed. Burrows her face into the very solid chest she’s somehow level with, and Emma’s not entirely sure when that happened, but she also can’t bring herself to complain about it. Especially when it feels like his lips graze her temple. More than once. 

“Swan, c’mon love we’ve got to go.”

Groaning, Emma’s head doesn’t ache. Nothing does, actually. She’s oddly comfortably and her internal-body temperature appears to be biologically accurate, but she’s admittedly not totally confident about her knowledge of that second thing, and whatever is underneath her left cheek is also quite obviously not the very solid, slightly uncovered chest of a pirate captain she’d like to make out with again. 

Her stomach flies into her throat that time. So, there’s something to be said for a change of pace. 

Emma blinks. Swallows. More than once. Licks her lips, to absolutely no avail — but she can’t be bothered with that when it’s clear her heart is doing its damndest to beat its way out of her chest, and she’s not in Neverland anymore. 

For one thing, there’s a distinct lack of smells. Bad ones, at least. Wherever she is smells suspiciously liked baked goods and the forest, which makes sense as soon as Emma blinks open her eyes. There’s a rather large tree across from her. 

Covered in garland and lights that blink back at her, ornaments hang from nearly every branch, and there are enough presents underneath that she briefly wonders which bank they had to rob to buy all of that. Snow flurries dance outside windows that are frosted over, and there are a lot of windows in this room. 

Some of them look out towards an expansive backyard, while others make it clear just how close they are to the water, and Emma thinks she can almost smell the water, but that might be wishful thinking and—

“Holy shit,” she breathes, gaze finally landing on the voice in front of her and she knew the voice, even when she didn’t want to admit it. That’s something of a theme for her now. “What—what are you wearing?” Tilting his head in confusion, strands of hair threaten to fall into Hook’s eyes. The same blue as always, if not a little sharper because it’s obvious he doesn’t understand what’s going on, and Emma’s going to cling to that. So it feels like they’re on slightly more even footing. 

“Clothes,” he drawls, and that's the same too. Emma can’t move. Is having quite a lot of trouble breathing, and clothes is a vast understatement. 

Pants that are somehow tighter than any of the leather he’d previously sported make his legs look ridiculous, especially when there’s a noticeable lack of sword and Emma was kind of getting used to the sword. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, nothing covering the brace at the end of his arm, but she’s also admittedly preoccupied with the number of buttons he’s undone and the vest that’s hanging loosely from his shoulders, and this might actually be the first time she’s seen him without a jacket on. 

Her stomach will probably just stay in her throat, then. 

“You’ll do dangerous things to my ego, if you keep staring like that,” Hook warns, but any passably snarky response gets caught behind Emma’s increasingly problematic tongue and her brain still hasn’t caught up yet. 

To the glint of light reflecting from his hand. 

And one very specific finger. 

Mouth dropping and breath practically flying out of her, Emma nearly steps on both of his feet when she jumps to hers, trying without much success to stay upright. Her hands fly towards him of their own accord, or so she will argue forever, and that can’t possibly be her first mistake. 

Putting her goddamn scabbard on her back was, probably. 

As it is, whatever number she’s at is suddenly the only number that matters, because her flat palms make it undeniably clear that she’s got her own bit of jewelry on her own specific finger, and Killian’s hand keeps moving. Up and down her spine, like that’s something it’s allowed to do. There is not enough oxygen in the world to sigh as loudly as she’d like to. 

“Steady on, love,” Hook murmurs, and that about does it. Neck giving up and knees threatening to buckle underneath her, Emma’s fingers curl into this absolutely ridiculous shirt at the same time her forehead collides with his collarbone, and he doesn’t really flinch. 

Tenses, slightly — although she figures that’s because of the worry she can practically fele radiating off him, and his hand stills. So as to ensure that his arm can also tighten around her middle, while his lips brush across her temple and the top of her hair. 

Anywhere he can reach, it seems. 

“Nightmare?” he asks, pulling her closer. They fit very well together, Emma realizes. Like pieces of a puzzle, and that’s admittedly sentimental, but she’s also ninety-six percent certain she’s still dreaming. That’s the only reasonable explanation. 

She can’t be dead. Not from a plant attack in Neverland. And Kill—Hook, goddamnit, Hook, wouldn’t have let that happen. She’s sure of that, at least. 

“Um, yeah, yeah,” she stammers. “I—sorry, I don’t think I meant to fall asleep.” “Nothing to apologize for. You’ve been baking for a small army the last couple of days, only serves that’d be exhausting.”

“Have I?” Leaning back, he narrows his eyes, and that’s fair. None of this makes sense. Rings, and trees, and baking. She’s never baked in her life. If she had, it wouldn’t smell nearly this good. 

“Who, um—” Emma continues, eyes widening when the realization hits her. “Henry! Where’s Henry?” Running is not easy with the arm still around seemingly getting tighter by the second, but her fear has already evolved into the kind of maternal-based adrenaline they do scientific studies on. “Let go of me,” she sneers, and he does. Immediately. The sound of his hands hitting his jeans is far too loud. “Where’s my kid? Why isn’t he here?” The tongue thing. 

Swiping across the front of Hook’s teeth, the tip of his tongue finds the corner of his mouth and the inside of his cheek, jutting out with questions and the almost audible cranking of metaphorical gears in his head. “It’s not Christmas yet,” Hook explains, voice oddly similar to a few minutes before, but Emma’s starting to realize that was not a few minutes before and she’s starting to feel a little nauseous. 

“Yuh huh.” “Are you alright, love?” He says it soft enough that something flutters in the back of Emma’s brain, some long-forgotten hint of emotion that she refuses to acknowledge. She doesn’t have time for it. There’s baking to do, supposedly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m, uh—I’m fine,” Emma promises, only one side of Hook’s mouth tilting up. “Just...tired, I guess.” “Because of the nightmare.” “Say that again when it doesn’t sound quite so much like an accusation.” “No accusation,” he objects, but it rings as sincere as her promise and the light’s got to be messing with her now. Bouncing off his ring the way it is. “Haven’t had a nightmare in some time, but that’s neither here nor there.” “Wow, you suck at that.”

There goes the other side of his mouth. Emma might be staring at his mouth. “Occasionally,” Hook agrees. “What’d you dream about, then?” Lying is very appealing. Coming up with a story Emma knows he’ll only half believe, but she assumes she’s got plausible deniability too, and she can’t think of a single thing to say. That’s disappointing. 

“I was in Neverland.”

If nothing else, staring at his mouth — and the rest of his admittedly attractive face — makes it easy to tell the moment Hook’s jaw clenches. Nerves color his gaze, almost as if he’s trying to remember something he’s already forgotten, but Emma appears to be the only one having some sort of existential crisis and the hint of grey at his temples suggests its been some time since Neverland. Figuring out how much time exactly, will probably be a bit of a challenge. “And?” “And what?” “And there’s plenty of terrors to warrant nightmares in Neverland,” Hook says, stepping out of Emma’s space. Also disappointing. “What exactly was it?” Shaking her head slowly, Emma’s hair doesn’t move. She’s not nearly as sweaty as she was either, the blanket at her feet proof positive of that, although her skin feels almost clammy and the magic in her veins has started to buzz. If Killian doesn’t stop moving his tongue in his mouth, she’s going to scream. 

Ah, goddamn. 

“I don’t know,” she says, not the lie she still wants it to be, “just some weird plant thing and you wanted me to come with you, but that was probably now, right?” There’s no way he’s comfortable with his neck at that angle. “Maybe. Do you still want to go?” “To, uh—” “—Doc called this morning, said the paint was ready to pick up.” “Paint,” Emma echoes, another confusing string of words that threatens to knock her back on the couch. It was a comfortable couch though, so maybe that’s not the worst thing that could happen to her. Neither is waking up in a reality where Hook wears jeans like that and stares at her like she’s his—she drops back. Onto the comfortable couch. 

“Mmhm, the color we picked out last week? He claimed he had to order it, but your father claims he’s just nervous because he doesn’t want to offend me and—” “—Why would you get offended by a dwarf?” Dots of pink appear on his cheeks. The bits not covered with stubble, and there’s some grey in that as well. It works, honestly. “He mercilessly overcharges for her services,” Hook says, clearly not the first time this particular rant has been voiced, “and it’s because he’s the only hardware store in town. Which is why you wanted to go. Help small businesses and the economy of the realm, even when Regina claimed we could order it just as easily off Amazon. But that only led to your denouncement of Jeff Bezos, and I do love it when you openly flout capitalism, so—” He shrugs. Emma might be going into shock. “Here we are, with slightly delayed, if not well-mixed paint, enough baked goods to mask the smell, and your parents guarantee that there’s more than enough room for all of us on Christmas Eve.”

“We’re painting on Christmas Eve?” Concern continues to ripple around him, made all the more clear by the pinch between his eyebrows and how often he rocks forward before shaking his head. It’s four times. “No, we’re painting—well, whenever we have time really, but you did mention Friday evening, and that way Hope could stay at the farm. Naturally she’s thrilled at the prospect.” “Right, right, right, that’s....yeah, that’s right.” She’s so bad at lying. To Hook, specifically. Open book practically broadcasts itself from every twitch of his mouth, and Emma is still doing a God awful job of not staring at his mouth, but her head is spinning and she can’t understand any of this and she’s kind of curious about what paint color they picked. 

And who Hope is. 

She refuses to acknowledge the flicker of familiarity in the back corner of her brain. 

She’s got to get out of here. Away from the couch, and whatever color the paint might be, back to Neverland, which is not something she ever thought she’d want, but they haven’t found Henry yet and who knows what Pan is planning next and— “Where’s Henry?” Emma whispers, far too aware of the desperation in those two words. Hook’s lips thin. When he presses them together. “I know he’s not going to be here until Christmas, but is—he’s ok, right?” “Swan, are you—” “—Just tell me where my kid is, Hook!” Those words fly out of her, voice rising on every letter until it feels as if they’re cutting their way out of Emma’s soul, leaving lacerations behind and the blood that’s appeared on the tip of her tongue makes her recoil. She fully expects him to take another step back, not sure when she stood up again, only that her knees are knocking together now, so naturally that’s not what happens at all. 

Hook moves back into her space, made all the easier by the lack of weapons between them, hand finding her cheek as easily as it traced her spine, and Emma doesn’t want to lean into the touch, but he’s so ridiculously warm and she’s teetering on the edge of undeniable insanity, so she’s going to give herself this. For at least six seconds. 

“Visiting Ella’s stepsister, so while he’s probably not having the best time, Lu’s always been a rather large fan of that particular realm, and Drizella is a bit of a pushover. I’d imagine the little lass is going gangbusters on the present front.”

Emma’s breathing out of her mouth. 

That seems fair as well. Trying to piece together any of that information with the life she’s currently living is all but impossible, and it’s only a matter of time until her knees give up again. Honestly, not crying continues to be her greatest talent. 

“Maybe I should just go to the store,” Hook says, “and let you try and get some more rest.”

Even the thought of being left here alone makes Emma’s magic boil in the pit of her stomach — wherever it might be sitting now, and she’s already shaking her head. “No, no, I want to make sure it’s the right color.” “Yuh huh.” “Sounding less than agreeable, Captain.” It’s a mean trick. One she knows will work, and it does. Hook’s eyes flash, and his brows jump, the hand that returned to her hip at some point tightening ever so slightly. “Tell me that you’re alright, and I’ll consider it.” “I’m fine.” “You’re a woefully bad liar is what you are, Your Highness.” Scrunching her nose, Emma tries very hard to temper the fluttering between her ribs. Magic mixes with nerves and flirting that’s not necessarily easier than it’s been, but certainly more fine-tuned. As if it’s a dance both of them are used to. “You can’t pull your sword on Doc, you know that, right?” “That hasn’t happened in years.” “Hook either, that might honestly be worse.” “He’s got a stranglehold on the hardware economy in this town. It’s not right. Gives him leave to charge an arm and a leg.” “If I tell you I’m fine again, will that distract you from your questionable obsession with hardware-based economies?” “Probably not,” Hook grins, more teasing and fluttering and his eyebrows jump again. As soon as Emma licks her lips. 

“No challenging the dwarfs to a duel.” Saluting is only passably overwhelming, but that appears to be the way this is going, and Emma cannot come up with an appropriate adjective to describe whatever sound she makes. As soon as he kisses her cheek. Giggling is out of the realm of possibility. “Noted,” Hook says, “c’mon, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can pick up the little sea monster.”

At this point, Emma would almost welcome a battle with a sea monster. Get her blood flowing, provide an outlet for all her adrenaline and, she hopes at least, if she dies in this dream, she’ll wake up back in Neverland. 

This has to be a dream. 

So, it seems they live in a mansion. 

Stepping outside, Emma’s breath catches loudly as she stares at the wraparound porch and there are somehow more windows than she’d originally noticed, and a turret-type thing involved that’s only vaguely absurd. Almost as much as the way people greet them on Main Street, familiar faces mixing in with strangers, all of whom nod and smile and some who even reach a hand out to Hook like he’s not a pirate or only recently returned to Storybrooke with the one thing they needed to get to Neverland, but Emma also supposes that was years ago, even if the math is still admittedly kind of messing with her. 

That was never her strongest subject in school. 

And there’s no sword strapped to his hip when the bell over the hardware store door rings, but Hook’s called “Doc” still sounds appropriately threatening, the scuffle of shoes and slightly panted breaths making Emma almost smile in spite of herself and her mathematical failings. “Captain,” Doc exhales, shuffling behind the counter that spans the far wall of the store. Tools and cans of paint line the shelves above his head, a name tag pinned to his shirt that seems unnecessary, but Emma’s nearly charmed by that as well and wholly unprepared for Doc to glance her way, adding—“Your Highness, it’s so nice to see you. I’ve got your order all ready, if you’d like to…”

Whatever else he says disappears in a haze of buzzing magic and malfunctioning joints, Emma’s fingers fluttering at her side while it sounds like Killian does his best to argue the price. For the paint. That they’re going to use. In their mansion. 

She didn’t ask which room they were going to paint. 

That felt like a flashing-neon sign, announcing how little she belongs in this place and Emma’s fairly certain Hook can tell, but that’s also another sign she’s not entirely ready to deal with at the moment and Doc flinches when the literal hook drops onto the counter. 

Emma presses her lips together. 

So as not to laugh. Like a person nearing their psychotic breaking point. 

“But Captain,” Doc argues, “we did agree on that mark, and—” “—Aye, but that was before it took an extra three days to receive the color, and I think there should be some sort of fee reduction for that.” “There aren’t any fees, just—” “—The overall cost, then.”

Pain flutters at the back of her consciousness when her teeth continue to dig into her lips, but the feeling twits with amusement and that looming sense of insanity, and Hook hardly even moves when Emma does. So she can rest her hand on his shoulder. 

“Maybe it’s not that big of a deal,” she ventures. 

Hook gapes at her. “Traitor.” “Pirate,’ she counters. “But I think we can afford it. Y’know, just to help the—” “—Locals,” he finishes, “aye, it’s something I’ve heard several thousand times before, love. But it is the principle of the thing.” “The thing being what, exactly?” “Efficiency,” Hook replies, as cool as any vegetable Emma could come up with, and Doc’s eyes go comically wide behind his glasses. The whole thing is actually pretty impressive. Attractive, maybe. She doesn’t have time for that. She has to—

Get back home is not the right string of words at all. Home is some abstract concept that certainly does not exist in the reality Emma came from, and even less so in a place like Neverland, but she doesn’t belong here, with the jewelry and the house, and she can’t quite get over the way his face twisted. When she called him Hook. 

“Naturally,” Emma mutters. “Can we just get the paint, Doc? Then we’ll be out of your hair.” Doc hums, but he doesn’t move and Emma can’t believe he doesn’t move. She’s given him an out. A reason to scamper back to wherever he’s keeping their paint, away from Hook’s appraising stare and the hand that’s already inching back towards hers, and he’s somehow even more tactile than usual. 

It makes her mouth go dry again. 

“Of course, Your Highness. If your husband could just agree to the terms of price, then—” Hook rolls his whole head, hair shifting in the process, and that’s minimally distracting when Emma’s heart constricts in her chest. Because she knew. Has eyes, after all. And the notable ability to stare. But there’s something about hearing the word that makes it all the more real, and Hook’s argument doesn’t have anything to do with relationship monikers. 

She’s starting to have several assumptions as to who Hope is. One assumption, really. 

Pulling her hand away from Hook’s is easier when he’s so preoccupied, twisting the ring around her finger and staring at the stone and it’s—well, it’s gorgeous, honestly. Exactly what Emma would imagine if she’d ever let herself imagine such a thing, and that’s got to be another sign or something at least in the realm of positive, and it turns out they’re painting the dining room. Blue, and that’s something of a cliche, but anything Emma has to say about that gets stuck halfway out of her undeniably chapped lips when Killian ushers her out of the store, a smile tugging at the ends of his mouth because— “Color reminds me a bit of that gown of yours.”

She’s atrocious at this. Schooling her features, or acting like every word out of his mouth isn’t a punch to her literal gut. It’s a miracle she hasn’t just keeled over. In the middle of goddamn Main Street, where the guy who is very clearly her husband has stopped them. 

So as to stare at her incredulously. 

“You’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” “Presumptuous.” “Not an answer, m’dear.” Maybe Emma will start keeping track of endearments. Just to give her mind something to latch onto. There appear to be more than she’s used to. “You wore a very blue gown to Elsa’s wedding, made some rather wonderful comments about how it matched my eyes that also made you blush rather severely, all of which I will admit to still thinking about with almost startling regularity.” She’s got no idea who the fuck Elsa is, or why they’d go to her wedding. Wearing a gown. And making sweepingly sentimental statements. 

Her smile is weak at best. “Sorry, just—that paint smell got to me, I think.” “Sure it did,” Hook says, clearly not convinced, “maybe we should go see Regina.” “Why would we do that?” Leveling her with a slightly different expression, Hook’s tongue shifts behind his closed mouth. Emma juts her chin out. In misplaced defiance, and inherent stubbornness. She’ll find Regina later. When she’s not at least partially thinking about kissing this version of Kill—

Hook, Hook, Hook, Ho—she wonders how he proposed. If he proposed. Maybe she did, what does Emma know? Nothing, apparently. “Do you remember what those plants looked like?” “What?” Emma asks. “Maybe you’re the one who got messed up by paint fumes.” “Absolutely scathing, Swan. Answer the question, please.” There’s an undercurrent of command in his voice — like she’s a member of his crew, and she doesn’t know if he has a crew anymore, but Emma bristles at the thought of being part of it all the same and the muscles in her neck do not appreciate being angled like this. “I told you, it was just a dream.” “Aye, you did. And as you would so lovingly put it, that particular lie sucked quite a bit. So once more, what were you dreaming about and where were you in the dream?” Opening her mouth, Emma’s sarcastic and inevitably snark-filled response evaporates as soon as she hears the clack of heels on the sidewalk next to them and the woman walking towards them has shockingly red hair. And a kid clinging to her side. Who immediately tries to launch herself at Hook. 

“Codfish heads,” the woman mumbles, Killian not able to hold back his chuckle or keep his arms at his side. The same ones that catch the kid and pull her close to his chest, peppering either one of her cheeks with kisses. 

Emma seriously considers dying right there. 

Dying will absolutely wake her up, she’s convinced. 

“Articulate as always,” Hook grins. The woman sticks her tongue out. “What are you doing here? I thought—ah,” he grunts, a knee slamming into his side, “control the limbs Mel, or I’m going to drop you and then your mom will be even more angry than she is.” The dexterity of this woman’s face is astounding. As is the width of Hook’s smile. “I’m not angry,” she objects, “and I’m here because you didn’t answer your phone. There’s some kind of disaster happening at the realm line.” “What kind of disaster?” “Something to do with magic, and it looks like some of Lancelot’s knights are exploring the forest here, looking for some kind of something because you know they have to have a quest.” “David can’t do anything about that?” “Was more than willing to if you actually decided to acknowledge him today. Hence the frustration over your phone issues.” “An insult roll,” Killian laughs, the sound almost more surprising than anything else Emma’s encountered today. She’s heard him laugh before. Of course she has. But it’s usually cynical, or occasionally even a little evil, and this guy can’t be evil. Not standing there, acting as a human jungle gym to a kid, and a woman Emma’s mind has also started to make assumptions about. The hair was a pretty good clue. No, this isn’t the first time she’s heard him laugh, but it’s certainly her favorite and if she plays the sound on loop in her head for at least several hours, then she hopes no one will ever be the wiser. 

Emma hardly notices that she’s referred to him as Killian. 

That’s probably for the best. 

“And,” he adds, “we finally finished with Doc, so we can go relieve the prince of his duties, even though he offered. Multiple times.” Ariel, Emma assumes this is the goddam Little Mermaid, throws her head back. “Oh Gods, did you terrify him? Is that why you’re being like this? Y’know the paint was back ordered, that’s why it took so long.” “There was no terrifying involved, and if that was the case, he should have made it known. All I heard was that he didn’t have it in stock, and it was going to take a few more days and—” 

He cuts himself off when Ariel waves an impatient hand in his face, turning towards Emma expectantly. “Did he terrify Doc?” Emma nods out of instinct, some dark and distant part of her wanting to be involved in this banter and this place, and this place isn’t real, so that’s a dangerous line of thinking, but she can’t seem to stop herself. In the same way Killian can’t seem to do anything except tug her against his side. And kiss the top of her hair. 

He really likes to do that. 

Especially impressive with the kid still hanging from him. 

“She’s a bloody traitor,” he announces, “but one of the other dwarfs is bringing the paint home, and, like I said, we were on our way to pick up the sea monster, so David can deal with the knights. They only listen to one of their own, anyway.” “No honor amongst thieves, huh?” Ariel asks knowingly. 

Killian scowls. It’s frustratingly adorable. 

“Fine, fine,” she shakes her head, “I retract any annoyance about your refusal to turn the sound on your phone on, if only because you gave my arms a break, and your dining room will look very good in that color.” “It’s a good color.” The arm around her shoulders is the only thing that keeps Emma from melting into the pavement beneath her boots. She had at least six pairs of boots in their hallway closet. Also absurd. And she hears the lilt in Killian’s voice, even if Ariel doesn’t — the soft intensity that sounds eerily similar to the way he promised he understood what it felt to lose hope, how quickly he agreed to her plan, demands, after the kiss and she imagines they kiss quite a lot in this reality. 

If her other assumptions are right. 

Ariel stares at them for a beat longer, one that Emma worries will end in a longer conversation and inevitable discussion of the awkward way she’s standing, but then the mermaid with legs is pulling her kid back and quieting the riot that causes, and Killian’s arm stays exactly where it is. “Send some pictures when you paint the first wall, ok?”

Killian nods. Stiffer than it should be, but Emma’s only barely managing to stay conscious at this point, and she doesn’t object when he directs her past Granny’s and down a road she’s never noticed before. 

His arm doesn’t move. 

In the days that will follow, Emma will never be entirely sure how she manages it. Tears sting her eyes almost as soon as the screen door slams behind her, more than one voice drifting down the hall, and there are pictures everywhere. Her own face smiles back at her from multiple times, eyes jumping from frame to frame and back again, a life that isn’t hers playing out despite her own misgivings, and if she’d thought the overall width of Killian’s smile was something ten minutes earlier, it’s got nothing on the several here. 

Wearing a tuxedo that does something unfamiliar to her heart, and gazing back from an ornate frame that also holds a grown-up face that’s still able to remind her of the boy she left in Neverland, and another with his arm around Emma’s shoulders again, exhaustion clear even from here, but there’s something cradled in her arms and a tiny hat that makes her whole soul ache and—

“Swan,” Hook breathes, and at least they’re back to that. In her head, where she's clearly going insane. “Emma love, I really need you to tell me what’s going on.”

That’s impossible. Not for any other reason than Emma’s vocal chords appear to have stopped working, and she never actually cries. 

It’s a Christmas miracle. 

Of the shittiest variety, because Hook’s hovering far too close to her and Emma wonders if he notices the magic coursing through her, or if this is just how he normally stands and none of it matters when two sets of feet sprint down the hallway. 

Frames rattle in their wake, both of them shouting and jumping before Emma’s even remotely prepared. She can’t imagine she ever would be. Maybe in a different lifetime. This one, possibly. 

Not hers. 

Not as is. 

And as it is, Hook ducks down before the blur rushing towards Emma’s shin can knock her over, hauling the giggling and smiling bundle over his shoulder. More kisses are dispensed, laughter ringing out around them and only slightly muted by the mess of dark curls that threatens to cover Hook’s face. 

He tries to blow it away, several times. 

“Emma,” another voice says, tugging at the end of her jacket and it’s a little overwhelming to see her father’s eyes staring up at her. From a kid. Who isn’t very old, but feels like a memory she can’t place, and if her mind doesn’t stop piecing things together Emma is going to scream. 

She doesn’t want to know. 

Absolutely cannot cope, honestly. 

“Emma,” he repeats, “if you and Killian are going to stay here for Christmas, can we make snowmen again? Because Henry said we could and Aunt Gina said she’d magic them so they wouldn’t melt and you’re way better at rolling than Mom is.” Someone huffs, Mary Margaret’s arms crossing over her chest and there’s an apron tied around her waist. Just to drive the domestic point home. “I resent that, and Dad is totally going to be better at rolling snowballs this year. He’s promised we’re going to win.” Emma’s mouth drops. In confusion, and several other adjectives. All of which Hook quite clearly recognizes, and that’s messing with her too. 

Reading her as well as he does should leave her feeling off-kilter. Reeling, even. It doesn’t. It’s like some sort of metaphorical anchor, and Emma finds herself constantly glancing over her shoulder, hoping for that one specific tilt of his lips and— “Let’s wait to go over rules until Henry gets here, alright mate? Don’t want to get into specifics when he’s going to have his own demands.”

Opening his mouth, the kid’s argument disappears once Mary Margaret makes another noise, adding a soft “Neal,” and only one of Emma’s knees bends. That’s lame. Very un-Savior like. 

And she doesn’t know how Killian manages it, either. She also does not care. Leaning into the hand that’s suddenly cemented to her back, Emma nods like someone has asked her a question, and there are more footsteps and smiles and she bites her tongue. David doesn’t disappear. He’s here. In this place he shouldn’t be, some sort of farm that had an almost kitschy mat outside that screen door and chickens lingering along the side of the front yard, and Killian’s voice is in her ear. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” “I’ll kick you,” Emma warns.

“I’d drop the sea monster that way.” She’s just about to ask the wholly unnecessary question of who the fuck is the sea monster when the beast in question tries very hard to stand on Hook's shoulders. All limbs and hair in desperate need of a cut, both Mary Margaret and David look overjoyed by her mere presence, warmth blooming of its own volition in Emma’s chest. “Mama,” she yells, resting her chin on top of Killian’s head, “are you going to magic the snowmen too?”

More than one pair of eyes flash towards Emma, suddenly frozen with a maelstrom of fear and words echoing between her ears and she’s got to talk. She can’t talk. Her tongue is growing in her mouth, no doubt a byproduct of that now occurring insanity, and her own eyes keep moving. Tracing over the lines of her daughter’s face, and the questionably cute clothes she’s wearing and her eyes are almost alarmingly blue. 

Tears fall on Emma’s cheeks. 

“Emma,” David mutters, but she barely hears him. Reaching out a hand that’s shaking much more than she’d like, her fingers graze Hope’s cheek and the skin there is soft and warm and obviously loved, like that’s something that’s possible. This new reality doesn’t have any rules, though. So maybe that works here. 

She must nod. Emma’s hair moves, so that’s got to mean something and she’s clinging to every victory she can get at this point. “I’ll try,” Emma says, not quite the promise she'd like it to be. Hook's fingers twist under the hem of her shirt, grazing across her actual spine and it’s disappointing when she tenses. 

Noticeably. 

David’s eyes turn appraising — but he doesn’t immediately look at Mary Margaret like Emma expects. He glances at Hook, a quick jerk of his shoulders that she only notices when they bump hers. “Did you hear about the knights, then?” “Ariel accosted us on our way here. What do they want, exactly?” “As far as I can tell, they’re just scouting, but who knows with those Camelot idiots.” Mary Margaret scoffs. David might actually blush. “I’m going to go out and talk to them now, and Snow sent a bird.” The hand at Emma’s back flattens. So as to keep her upright. 

“Lance usually responds quickly,” Mary Margaret says, “but you know the cross-realm travel, it’s always hit or miss. Especially with the weather. Hopefully we’ll know what they’re doing sooner rather than later.” Humming in what sounds like agreement, Hook shifts Hope and keeps Emma pulled against his side. His eyes dart back towards David, an unspoken conversation Emma doesn’t entirely want to hear. When it’s obviously about her. 

And her father doesn’t respond either, just crosses the space between them and kisses her cheek. “Everything’s going to be ok, kid.”

“Yuh huh,” she mumbles, but it sounds like a lie and Hope falls asleep with her head on Hook's shoulder while they walk home. 

It takes her about three seconds to realize she used that word as well. 

And then another fifteen to totally freak out about it. 

As silently as possible. 

To his credit, he doesn’t press the issue. He stares, without much subtlety — but Hook never comes out and accuses Emma of anything, or questions how little she knows about this life they’ve got, and she’s not entirely surprised when he doesn’t ask when she’s coming to bed. He just takes a deep breath, and kisses the top of her hair again, which is somewhere like the ninth time that’s happened, walking up the stairs and presumably waiting for Emma. 

In their bed. 

They share. Together. As people. Married people, with a very cute kid and Henry’s in some other version of the Enchanted Forest with his wife, which is only marginally screwing with Emma. That’s positive, she thinks. Marginally is better than totally. 

But it’s also not her life, and around twelve forty-seven she starts to wonder if she’s fucked with the Emma that’s supposed to be here by waking up on that couch, and she can’t get over how comfortable that couch was, and she starts walking. 

Aimlessly, really. 

Down halls and from room to room, opening doors that regularly make breathing a legitimate challenge. Henry’s old room clearly hasn’t been changed, and Hope’s hair covers her entire pillow, much like Emma’s regularly does, and they’ve got an actual sitting room and family room, a nautical theme that feels a little to on the nose, but is also somehow perfect and she knows he’s there before he says anything. 

“You’re lurking,” Emma accuses, jumping onto the edge of the kitchen counter now that she’s finished her patrol. 

“And you’re admittedly freaking me out just a bit.” Her laugh does that bubble thing again, something that Killian could probably claim ownership over if he wanted. She knows he won’t, though. Not this version. Not this guy, staring at her like he’s torn between terrified and terrorizing, like he’d challenge the timeline to a duel if needs be. 

“Where’s your sword?” “In the basement. Where it’s been for years.” “You don’t use your sword much?” Taking a step forward, the floor creaks under his sock-covered feet and the realization that he must have put socks back on at some point does what Emma can only imagine is irreparable damage to more than half a dozen internal organs. “Asking that adds to my growing pile of suspicions and worries.” “The freaked out ones?” “Aye,” he nods, hand and hook resting on her hips. Maybe there are magnets there. Maybe he’s just hardwired to touch her. Emma fists her hands. “Why are you surprised by that?” “If I ask you a question will you totally freak out more?” That time he shakes his head. Hair shifts in the process, and there have to be magnets involved. That’s the only reasonable explanation for how quickly Emma’s fingers find the strands, brushing them away and relishing the exact way Killian’s eyes flutter shut and—damn, she did it again. His hand tightens. 

Like he’s nervous she’s going to disappear otherwise. 

“Question for a question is breaking conversational rules,” he starts, “But—” “—You’re a pirate?” “Something that’s been well-documented. What do you want to know?” Everything seems unacceptably vast, and Emma’s not sure which question to pick when they’re all weighing down on her still too-large tongue, but Killian’s eyes don’t pull away from her and he turns his head into her palm. The one cupping his cheek. 

She’s an absolute disaster. Which is, she’ll argue the exact reason, she asks: “Are you in love with me?” He doesn’t laugh. More credit to him, although this credit comes with an asterisk for the exact way his expression shatters. In slow motion. For maxim effect. Muscles in his throat shift when he swallows, the tip of his tongue darting between barely-parted lips, and his next inhale has a distinct shuddering quality to it. 

“More than I knew I could be,” he whispers. “You want to tell me the truth now?” “About? 

Bending his neck, Killian’s exhale brushes Emma’s cheek and for one absolutely insane moment, that would make sense if they were actually married, she thinks he’s going to kiss her. He doesn’t. Figures. Lips graze the edge of hers, sending shockwaves that ripple up her spine and threaten to make magic explode from the tips of her fingers and she has to close her eyes. At the force of his voice, steady despite the emotion behind it. 

“Who are you, really?” The shockwaves disappear. Turn into fear, and something ice-cold and Emma has to blink.

“What?” He clicks his tongue. More than once, in obvious reproach, and she wonders if she’ll have to walk to the plank at some point, the tip of his hook threatening to dig into her skin. “I’ll ask you once more, darling. It’s very good magic, whatever you’re doing. I can feel it, but—” “—You can feel my magic?” “Stop talking,” he sneers, and the symmetry of it all feels like a slap. Several times over. “Now either you tell me the truth, or I’ll have to do something drastic. Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?”

[superspookywombat]

falling {j.h} chapter seven

Warnings: sexual thought (singular), slight swearing, sexual innuendo insult (towards jacob so it’s okay)

Taglist: Sleepy-whore geekysimmerthings mauvette268 treestarrrrrrrr kaleigh404 krazykatkay456 meganlikesfandoms darknacademia hi-my-name-is-riley vdtwsupernatural selmeuuh raindancer2004 wondersandtempests royale-trash-slytherin im-hella-bright bootylimpics livfg It-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes peacemusicinch coffeeslut16 bvbwestfall Actuallyedythecullen stan-joonies Peacebuglove Millie-753 Frozenhuntress67 i-tried21 seaevans femflorals arseofrivia trashysara vulgarfuckinvirgo sleepysnapesnake hey-bulldogs mental-breaker-74 pansexual-and-eating-pancakes 

Quick a/n: I’m still pissed about Jacob forcing himself on Bella and her not being able to defend herself. Like, I took it personally, so naturally y/n did too. Constructive criticism is always welcomed and appreciated :)

Red is all you see, the unbearable heat forcing your eyes closed. Flames lick at your skin as you try to walk forward, but you’re unable to move. Your body is frozen in place, and through the flames you can see an invisible barrier where they cut off. Outside that barrier sits your sister, along with Jasper, Edward, Doctor Cullen, Esme, and Alice. They watch you as you suffer, their faces broken with pain and guilt. Tears fall from your eyes as you scream out, the scent of burning skin and hair invading your nostrils. The fire overwhelms you until you can’t feel anything anymore, and you fall unconscious. 

You jolt awake, stopping a scream from escaping your lips. Sweat beads down your back as you rub your arms, trying to soothe the burning feeling. Your face is stiff from dried tears, and your shirt is soaked in sweat. You glance at your sister sleeping peacefully, gibberish words falling from her mouth. You softly pad over to the bathroom and close the door, peeling off your damp shirt. You take off the rest of your clothes and watch yourself in the mirror as the water warms up. You clutch the edge of the sink, forcing yourself to stare into your own eyes. Tears spill from your eyes, but you wipe them away as quickly as they appear. You enter the shower, but as the hot steam touches your skin, you’re swift to turn the water colder. Your last day of school was here, but you couldn’t care less. Things with Bella had finally gotten on the right track, and now she was going to cart off to Alaska with Edward. The more you thought about it, the only thing holding you to Forks was Charlie (and Jasper but you weren’t ready to admit that, yet.) You had been toying with the idea of taking a gap year to travel the world, smoosh some experiences in before you fully settled down, but the thought of leaving Charlie by himself made your stomach churn. 

After washing and shaving, you exited the bathroom and got dressed. Feeling energized by waking up so early, you pulled on a dress and blow dried your hair. Walking down the stairs, you peek around the corner to see Charlie drinking a cup of coffee at the table while reading yesterday’s paper. 

“Morning, old man. Can I interest you in some breakfast? Maybe gourmet buttered toast and eggs?” You tease. He looks up, startled. 

“It’s your last day, I should be the one making you breakfast.” Charlie says. You give him a small smile and grab the egg carton from the refrigerator. “Why are you up so early?” 

Shreds of remembrance from your dream runs through your mind, but you shake the thought and keep a smile on your face. “I wanted to get a headstart on the bathroom before Bella hogged it.”

“Smart move.” He chuckles. You fry three eggs and you’re just setting out plates when Bella walks down the stairs. 

“Hey, um, Edward, Jasper, and Alice are coming to pick us up in twenty.” She informs you and Charlie. You and Charlie nearly spit out your drinks simultaneously.

“Jasper?” You ask.

“Boys?” Charlie says at the same time. Bella rolls her eyes and grabs the bottle of orange juice. 

“We’re adults now, dad. I think we’ll be fine.” Bella teases. Charlie points to your backpack and mouths ‘pepper spray,’ and you nod. You and Bella eat quickly, and Charlie watches you two in amusement. A knock at the door startles the three of you. 

“Go, go!” Charlie waves you on. You open the door and Alice stands there. She bounds inside with a huge smile and engulfs you and Bella in a hug. You wrap your arms around her hesitantly. After letting go, she bends down and hugs Charlie. 

“Good morning, Chief Swan.” She greets Charlie. He tries to scowl, but just isn’t able to resist Alice’s good vibes.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Alice. Call me Charlie.” He says with a gruff voice. Alice giggles then takes Bella’s hand and pulls her out the door. 

“I guess that’s my cue.” You say, your eyes lingering on Charlie for a bit before following the girls outside. 

As you approach the stylish SUV, Bella hops into the front by Edward and Alice opens the back door for you. You give her a small smile before sliding in the middle seat to sit in between her and Jasper. Your thigh brushes Jasper’s and you shiver. Images of his bare thigh brushing yours as you combine race through your mind. Your thoughts get interrupted by intense classical music blasting through the car. 

“So.. are you guys excited?” Alice says brightly. Bella glances at you through the rear-view mirror. 

“For sure. You only graduate once, right?” You joke. The whole car irrupts with chuckles, making you knit your eyebrows together and wonder why they found that so funny. You try to act as normal as you can while being in such close proximity with Jasper, especially after the moment you two shared a week ago on the couch. “I���m actually kinda nervous. I have no clue what the future holds for me, you know?” 

“It’ll all be fine. Just remember that everyone else is feeling the exact same way. And I’m here for you.” Jasper says, his voice soothing your nerves. He hesitates placing his hand on yours, glancing at Alice before pulling his hand away. Your heart drops as he puts as much space between the two of you as he possibly can. 

Edward pulls into the parking lot as you brace yourself for your last day of school. 

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

A few days later, Bella returns from an outing with Jacob. You go to the front yard, following Charlie after hearing yelling between Jacob and Edward. 

“You did what?!” You’re blinded by outrage, your hands balling up into fists at the sight of Jacob watching Bella cradling her hand. 

“You punched him, and- and- and you’re the one who got hurt?” Charlie outbursts with a loud laugh. You smack him, hissing a warning at him. 

“I’m gonna kill him!” You yell. You storm into the house, running up to your room and grabbing your baseball bat. 

“I didn’t even put a dent in him.” Bella scoffs, Charlie tries to lecture her on her form. You slam the door behind you as you stride out into the yard with the bat in your hands. 

“Let’s see how much damage some metal does.” You spit. Jacob puts his hands up defensively and chuckles as Charlie practically tackles you. “Let me go! I’m gonna make that son-of-a-bitch wish his mother swallowed!” 

“I’m going to take her to see Carlisle. Why don’t you come with us?” Edward offers. You look at him, then back at Jacob.

“Fine. But I’m bringing the bat.”

Doctor Cullen checks out Bella’s hand while you pace in their yard. You tighten your grip around your bat and you chuck it at a tree, your anger wavering at the sound it makes on impact. As you walk over to grab it, a voice behind you makes you jump. 

“I’d hate to get on your bad side.” A southern drawl speaks. You sarcastically chuckle, reaching down to grab the bat.

“Who says you aren’t already?” You say, pointing the bat at Jasper. He frowns, and you feel guilty for a second. 

“I apologize for anything I did to offend you.” He says, and you can tell he’s sincere. You sigh.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” You say. He continues making eye contact with you, making your knees feel weak under his gaze. 

“Why are you upset?” He asks. You scoff at him and run your hand through your hair. 

“Jacob! He kissed her-” You whack the bat on the hard ground. “-With-” Whack. “-out-” Whack. “-her-” Whack. “PERMISSION!” Whack, whack, whack. The bat falls from your numb fingers and you fall to your knees, sobs wracking through your body. Jasper kneels down besides you and gently puts his arm around you. 

“Something tells me that’s not all.” He says. You look up at him through your tear-blurred vision. 

“I- yeah. There’s just some stuff from my past that makes me, a little, uh, emotional on this topic.” You sniffle. His arm goes stiff as he processes what you just said. Another sob falls silently from your lips and you bury your head in his chest, embracing his scent as he wraps his arms around you. 

[emmakillianfan]

A Christmas Story for You

To @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ for Christmas. While I haven’t had as much time for it as I had hoped, I hope you are having a wonderful Christmas and enjoy this little story that kind of got away from me. Merry Christmas and a very happy new year to you!

Due to illness and post graduate studies I’m a bit rusty on the fanfiction story writing, but I hope you enjoy it. I have loved the opportunity to be your secret santa. As I said from the beginning, I’m a big fan of your writing.

Getting to Know You at Christmas

Emma Swan hated to mingle at these social events her parents held each year as a welcome to the holiday season. Her mother easily socialized with people, remembering names and details of each person’s life in the coastal town of Storybrooke, Maine. Her father was just as gregarious, shaking hands and clapping older gentlemen on the back as the mused over details of long-ago exchanges and funny occurrences that she never quite could understand. She liked people, even had friends. But there was something missing for her from the conversations and laughter that seemed to lift over the swell of Christmas carols and the flashes of lights from the tree and cameras snapping shots of huddled groups of friends, family, and compatriots.

“Your mother is worried about you,” Ruby Lucas-Gale said with a knowing smile as Emma reached for another mini pizza and shoved it in whole. “You don’t look happy.”

Keeping her lips sealed, Emma shot her friend a plastered smile and shrug.

“You could at least move away from the bar. She’s going to think this is a re-do of last year’s party where you went to bed with a bottle of tequila under each arm after telling everyone that you were sleeping until the new year.”

“I should have kept that promise,” Emma groused, giving a slight wave when her mother looked at her pleadingly. “I could have avoided the Christmas Karaoke party at Victor’s, the cookie exchange at your grandmother’s, and let’s not forget the pot luck at Regina and Robin’s where I was shamed for bringing your grandmother’s frozen lasagna as my contribution. Not only had Regina made one, but I didn’t even realize it was still frozen.”

“You brought a pie too,” Ruby reminded her. “I don’t remember anyone noting that was store bought.”

“I ate it in the car working up the nerve to go inside because my mother set me up on a date. Who does that? Blind dates on Christmas?”

“She means well,” Ruby added consolingly, patting her hands down her red dress that seemed to creep up her toned thighs each time she moved. “And Graham was…”

Emma held up one hand in protest. “Don’t defend him. First he was your ex. He was nice but a little or more than a little too intense with his whole getting back to nature and communing with animals thing. My mother has horrible taste in men for me. For a woman who believes in fairy tales and calls my father her prince charming, I don’t think she would survive a day on Tinder.” It had been the long running commentary at the parties that somewhere in the crowd was there to be set up with Emma. Some who did not partake in the dancing or singing along around the piano would try to guess who it was going to be this year. Bets were currently on about a gawky man with a green tie who was currently chatting up Zelena Mills in the corner.

“Just remember she means well.” Linking arms with Emma, Ruby pulled her friend out onto the makeshift dance floor and began to sway her hips to the beat of a modern Christmas tune that Emma knew was by some current pop singer. “So I’m guessing your next date is in here somewhere. Where oh where could he be?”

“You are annoying,” Emma pouted, folding her arms over her chest yet still swaying a bit to the up-tempo beat. “I thought you had money that guy in the green tie.” He was the typical type her mother would love to see her date. She could hear the school teacher turned public servant now telling her how she just knew he was the kind of guy she would love to get to know.

“Possibility,” Ruby said, tapping her bright red lips in mock thoughtfulness. “What about Archie?” He’s been hanging around over in that corner in a conversation with Regina and Robin for a little bit now. Seems to look over here every once in a while.”

“Everyone is looking at you, Ruby,” Emma hissed in exasperation. You are showing more skin that is advisable with the temperature and you’re currently bumping and grinding to Christmas tunes.”

“Maybe he’s setting up some pre-marital counseling for them. Okay…one of the guys from the mines? Leroy?”

“That’s a tad incestuous since they are practically my uncles.” Emma scanned the crowd to see her father and mother in conversation over by the French doors leading out to the patio that had been sprayed with twinkle lights and that included a new audio system he had spent the day fiddling with as her younger brother tried out the microphones in his own rendition of some sort of heavy metal meets classic rock rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. He was just 14 and still at that awkward stage, suffering the embarrassment of parents who doted and friends who loved to point that out to him. Her own son idolized him though. “I’m thinking he’s a no show. My mom is in her plotting mode. Look at the way she’s talking to my dad.”

Sure enough her parents were furtively whispering, her mother holding up a hand to hide her mouth as though nobody would notice. It would be debated for years to come which of the two women noticed him first though. A slender, tall man with piercing blue eyes and sardonic smile seemed to rush up to her parents and hug them in turn. Even though Emma couldn’t make out the words, her father gave the man his double shoulder clap before spinning him about to the crowd and pointing out a few people.

“Maybe him,” Ruby said, lifting onto the balls of her feet even higher than her shoes allowed and balancing herself against Emma. “He’s a hottie.”

“Doubtful,” Emma noted, swinging her gaze across the room to the man in the green tie who was now eating a banana and doing nothing for his resemblance to a simian creature as Ruby had declared. “I don’t have that sort of luck. My mother doesn’t…” She never got to finish the sentence when she noted who had just entered the party and made a line straight toward greeting her parents. Neal…the once love of her life turned affection into weapons and her self confidence into a puddle of what if. She was better now, but the sight of him seemed to jangle her nerves in a way that made her doubt her recovery. They managed to co-parent their son with little trouble, but he wasn’t one she wanted to see socially. The fact he always had a date on his arm just added to her discomfort.

Ruby was one of the few people who understood. Twirling her in the direction of the mystery man who was now noshing on a few of the crisp veggies without bothering to dip them into the various sauces, Ruby leaned in and whispered loudly in Emma’s ear. “Don’t question it. Just go introduce yourself. It’ll be less awkward that way.”

Emma would forever question the logic in that, but for the moment felt her feet begin to move one after the other and in no time she was standing in front of him. His eyes were even more striking up close and she caught a whiff of his cologne that was a spicey scent that she would later blame for her mouth watering and her words feeling like they slid off her tongue without regard to custom or reason.

“Emma,” she said by way of invitation. Her smile was a little forced and her hand held out in mid air a beat too long as he shoved a celery stick in his mouth and raised his own in greeting. “I guess my parents probably told you that.”

“Your parents?” he repeated, the smiled he was giving her lifted higher on the right side of his face as did his right eyebrow. He seemed to be surprised by her, almost as if he was not expecting the conversation. That irritated her a bit.

She gave a wave over her shoulder to where they stood by the fireplace. “Mary Margaret and David. The Nolans. You were just talking to them.”

“Aye, David and my older brother went to school together back in the day. They invited me to…”

She brushed off his explanation. “No, I get it. It’s so them. They don’t think I have any skills in that area at all. Apparently, they have given up on finding someone local.” She shrugged and when he seemed he wasn’t going to answer, she reached across and grabbed a carrot stick. Placing it in her mouth she made a face and immediately removed it. “Rabbit food.”

“You do know how to flatter man, love. I’m not sure I would want to be just one of the multitudes.” His smile was wider as he watched her, his questions about her easy and slick as she tried to explain that her parents were young when she was born and waited nearly two decades before their miracle child was born. He seemed to know nothing about her, which was odd for a set up. Maybe he was just being polite.

“So you’re not from around here,” she asked when he paused to take a drink. Even over the rim of the cup his eyebrows raised again. “I’m the sheriff. I sort of notice things like accents. I do sort of like accents like yours. Different than other guys around here.”

“Boston by way of London,” Killian answered. “And you, love? Always a resident of this seafaring town?”

“Most all my life,” she admitted, leaving out a few pit stops along the way. “Mom probably told you that the best place to take me for a dinner date is Granny’s. She loves it there, plus Granny will spy on us and give her updates every few minutes. I’m more into this Italian place near the docks. Awesome seafood and pasta. And their lasagna isn’t frozen. It’s more date like, I think. You know, checked table clothes, drippy candles, wine, and all that.”

“A classic romantic?” he asked, clearly amused.

“Well, I mean if we have to go out, it makes sense to go someplace like that.” She held out her hand and gestured to his phone. “I’ll give you my number in case mom hasn’t already. A date is a date, but might as well get a good meal out of it.”

“By all means,” he said, handing her the latest device on the market. She noted that he did everything with his right hand, his left staying next to his side and covered in a black glove. She was about to mention it when she heard her father’s voice and laughter.

“You’ve met our Emma,” David said, joining the duo at the table and placing one hand under Emma’s elbow. “Our daughter can be a bit blunt. I hope she hasn’t insulted you or made you change your mind.”

“Dad,” Emma said, swatting him playfully.

“She’s been absolutely brilliant,” Killian answered, shoving his phone in his pocket. “By the way, love, name’s Killian Jones. I don’t believe I properly introduced myself.”

David nodded knowingly. “Killian is here to work with your mother on her bid for the mayor’s office. He’s a wiz when it comes to all things in local politics. Very highly recommended.”

“Work for mom?” Emma asked weakly, trying to ignore the not quite so humble smile that played about Killian’s mouth. “You mean he’s not…”

“Of course, Regina is taking time off to plan her wedding and then get settled into married life. She recommended Killian to run your mom’s campaign since Archie is considering and Mal has already announced. Anyway, it is good you met. Killian’s going to need to talk to you about your role in promoting our family. Maybe you can meet up at Granny’s later this week.” David glanced around the room and gripped his daughter’s arm harder. “I wanted to introduce you to someone I met when I was buying supplies for the farm. His name is Walsh.”

Emma stammered a bit, her face turning pink as Killian continued to hold that smile that showed both bemusement and cockiness. “Walsh…”

“Go ahead, love,” Killian said. “We’ll finish our conversation at this Granny’s or perhaps you might like the atmosphere.”

Emma was sure that her face was bright red as his eyebrows lifted up and down in a way that made her wonder just what lascivious thoughts were rolling around in that head of his. She felt those blue eyes on her as her father made another excuse and led her over to the man in the green tie who was smiling nervously at her and oblivious to her discomfort and not so secret looks over at Killian Jones.

She nodded appropriately and even asked a few questions about Walsh and his furniture design business. Her own rental was outfitted with castoffs and hand me downs that had seemed comfortable and worn at the time. He was telling her why it was important to have pieces that spoke of her uniqueness and character. At least that was what she heard on the occasions she bothered to listen and didn’t internalize the flinches and groans as her parents introduced Killian Jones to every person in the room. She wasn’t pleased to see most of the single women giggling and flashing him flirtatious smiles that he easily returned. There was no need to be jealous, but still the emotion was creeping up her spine as she watched him actually kiss Ruby’s hand like something out of a novel.

“I could show you sometime,” Walsh interrupted. She jumped at being caught unaware and repeated the words back to him in hopes of making some sense of the situation. “My shop. I have some really beautiful pieces I think you would like.”

“Well, if I am ever in the market,” she said, realizing that he was holding out a business card with his personal number written on the back. “Have you met August and his father Marco. They do some of the most beautiful woodwork you have ever seen. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

“We were right about the monkey guy,” Ruby said defeatedly, kicking off her shoes and reclining on the bed in Emma’s childhood bedroom. The room didn’t quite do justice to the angsty teen she had been, but still boasted teen idol posters of boy bands and even the dollhouse brought by Santa one year. “But that other guy was cute and quite the charmer. Even I was about to hit on him. I had such high hopes for your mother.”

Emma flinched as she unclipped her hair and left it to fall around her shoulders in soft waves. “Yeah, so he’s not my set up of the year. Yet I asked him out, sort of. I don’t know. I made a fool out of myself.”

“He didn’t seem too offended,” Ruby suggested. “I mean I was distracted once Dorothy agreed to dance but every time I looked in his direction he was looking in yours. And I might add that was pretty often.”

“Right, he was probably trying to figure out what was wrong with me.” Emma was about to bemoan her embarrassed state a little more when her phone dinged out one and then another text message. She reached over to grab it and groaned with the realization. It was Killian. Ruby immediately wanted to know what he had to say and proceeded to inspect the picture he sent just in case Emma was confused if he was the guy in the green tie or not.

“Emma, you might have had a rough start, but he’s hot. And he’s clearly interested. Why else would he text?” Passing the phone back, she shrugged. “And let’s face it, you and commitment aren’t that strong of allies. He’s from out of town. Mary Margaret said he travels all over to do these little campaigns. I’m seeing excellent fling material.”

The text was taunting her, a coy comment about Italian restaurants and then a reminder of who he was with the picture. “I should answer him. I mean it would be rude not to answer, right?”

“Your mother would say not to be rude to anyone, but I’m telling you there is no reason to be rude to that guy.” Ruby reached over and grabbed a 10 year old magazine from the table, clearly bored with the conversation. “But I mean it is up to you. Text him. Don’t text him. Your choice.” Ruby flipped the pages casually, bringing up what dresses Regina was going to want them to wear at her wedding. She insisted that red wouldn’t be that garish at a Christmas event. It wasn’t until Emma refused to correct her that Ruby even looked over cautiously. “You haven’t texted him?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“You like him, don’t you?” Ruby propped herself onto one elbow. “It’s written all over your face.”

Emma shoved the phone back in her bag and let her head loll against the mattress as she sat cross legged on the floor. She rarely was in this room now, but somehow it felt comfortable and almost nostalgic to discuss dating and boys with her friend just down the hall from her parents. At least she wasn’t practicing writing his name with hers or anything like that. “I don’t get crushes.”

“You’re much too tough for that.”

Emma wasn’t exactly wrong about her aversion to crushes. She was in her twenties and already sheriff of the small coastal town. She wore practical boots or sneakers more than heels and her long hair had not seen princess curls in months. This event at her parents was the first time she’d worn a dress except to church. “If I did, and I’m not saying I do, what difference does it make. I’m a grown woman, mother of a 10 year old, and I have a career. I’m hardly going to make cootie catchers and see if his name comes up after saying some horrible rhyme.”

Ruby nodded thoughtfully and went back to the magazine. “Not to mention horribly ugly and boring. I don’t know how I put up with you.”

“You are going to pay for that one, Ruby,” Emma laughed, tossing a pillow and joining in as Ruby cackled with laughter. They were both laughing so hard that Emma barely heard the familiar chirp of her phone ringing. Holding up a hand to silence her friend, she shushed her and reached for it. She only hoped she sounded less winded than she felt as she said her own name and waited for the response.

“I hope I didn’t call to late,” a male English accent sounded on the other end. Even without seeing him in person, she could already picture that bemused smirk and light in his eyes. “I meant to check back with you, love, but time got away from me and then you were gone.”

“Oh um…good…I mean great…I mean you didn’t call too late,” Emma gestured wildly at her friend who was making choking signs in response to her word vomit. “But why did you call?”

“Well, love, you did give me your number,” he reminded her. “I tried texting, but didn’t get a response. I thought perhaps you were screening, but I had to give it a shot. I was hoping you might have a bit of time for me tomorrow – breakfast perhaps? I know you said you preferred that little Italian place, but I have never known such an establishment to be open very early. Perhaps that Granny’s, you spoke of? We could save the Italian place for our dinner date. I have been craving some ravioli lately.”

“Date?” Emma stammered, ignoring the way that Ruby looked ready to pounce. “I…”

“You did sort of ask me out and I must say it was a masterful way to do so. I would love to accompany you for dinner, Emma. But first we have a bit of business to discuss about your mother’s campaign. Breakfast then? 8 a.m.? Granny’s?”

“I’ll be there,” she answered dully as he spoke politely for a moment about thanking her for her time.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

Emma’s father had not gotten the memo that she was going out for breakfast, as he was flipping pancakes onto a large plate as she descended the stairs, handed her son his permission slip for the field trip, and dodged the family’s collie that seemed to be underfoot. Her mother showed no signs of worry as she sipped her morning coffee and reminded Emma to wear a scarf and hat as she consoled her husband that there were not too many pancakes and Emma wouldn’t have eaten them all anyway.

She pulled her yellow bug up in front of the diner, taking the last of the spots at 8:05 a.m. That was early for her and not a big worry that she was late for meeting with Killian. That was until she walked in, kicked a bit of the snow off her boots (the black ones with a heel that were in her old closet and could not be described as practical – don’t judge), and spied Killian at one of the booths talking to Tink. The bubbly blonde was petite and perfect, a face and voice like a cherub in a painting. Every year she had the solo at the church choir’s Christmas Eve performance and every year people wiped away tears at her beautiful rendition. She didn’t look very angelic as she perched on the edge of her seat and leaned forward to talk animatedly with Killian. Her smile flashing at him and even an occasional stroke of his arm with her hand to emphasize a point. Even in the 90 seconds she had been standing there kicking her boots and unwinding the mile long scarf from her mother, she had watched the waitress stop by and lean across the table to give Killian quite the view down her shirt.

Ruby must have noticed too, as she left her spot behind the counter and fluffed Emma’s hair with an encouraging nod and a teasing note that Emma was wearing lip gloss. Spinning her with one hand on her shoulder, Ruby sort of nudged her in the direction of the booth with a hissed reminder to smile.

“Killian,” Emma said, ignoring the pout from Tink, whose real name was Isabella but didn’t want to be confused with the town librarian, Belle, “sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, love,” he said, scooting out to stand as she arrived. “I was going over a few notes for the kick off and Tink here was catching me up on some of the ideocracies that make small town politics so fun.”

Emma flashed a quick smile at her childhood friend, watching her slink out of the booth and tell Killian she was in the town directory if he wanted to call. He did not follow her with his eyes as she sashayed toward the door, nor did he smirk like Emma wanted to do when Ruby called after Tink to tell her that she still owed for her morning tea. It wasn’t that she disliked Tink, but there was that feeling that made her feel ill when she saw her flirting with Killian.

He gestured for her to sit down a simple glance toward the counter sent the waitress scrambling to bring them menus and take their orders. Or maybe it was just his order, as he had to call her back to get Emma’s. Despite his seemingly healthy eating style the night before, he matched her order of a hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon. Granny had even fancied it up with chocolate shavings.

His questions were easy at first, wanting to know about her childhood and then her job. While a few were personal, he did not seem to be prying. She even managed to ask him a few and he offered some answers of his own without objecting too loudly and then quickly getting them back on track. She learned of his naval experience that paid for his education and how he had become involved in the campaigns and politics of small cities and his love of the ocean and aged rum.

“So is your position as sheriff an elected one?” he asked, casually resting back in the vinyl seat across from her.

She was taking two sips to his one when she noticed the way he smiled as he watched her. Instinctively she raised her hand up to swipe at the whipped cream that might have gathered on her nose but found none. “What?” she asked in exasperation. “Did I make a mess?”

“No, I am simply enjoying watching you share your experiences as sheriff. Your passion for it shines on your face, love.”

She knew she was probably blushing and rolled her fork through the home fries as a distraction.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

For the next few days they saw each other often. There was the announcement of her mother’s candidacy where she helped place signage. She ran into him when she went to inspect a license of one of the vendors at the skating rink and ended up sharing a drink and conversation. While pondering which type of creamer to buy, he popped up out of no where and offered a suggestion. He was even there when the church choir had a rehearsal, claiming he was talking to some potential volunteers. He did apologize for that when the choir director called Emma out for missing two of her cues in a row because she was watching him, in the words of Regina, make doe eyes at her and silently flirt.

In the mean time, her mother had been talking up Walsh’s skills in design and potential as a date for Emma. There was now a gaping hole in the living room at the farm house where her mother was having him design a custom entertainment center. Her brother was already complaining that the television on the floor was not the greatest idea. Emma tried to explain Walsh wasn’t her type, but her mother wasn’t hearing it and was asking when she was seeing him again. Given that she had not saved his number and had mutually agreed with him that they weren’t really each other’s type it seemed unlikely. However, Mary Margaret was so cutely sure she had done well this year that Emma hadn’t the heart to tell her.

One morning over doughnuts at the station her mother read the speech Killian had written for her campaign and asked her daughter for feedback. Emma offered a few remarks as the woman adjusted the clutter on her father’s desk.

“I think he’s handsome,” her mother said at one point. “Kinda has that mysterious look to him.”

“Who?” Emma asked distractedly. “Dad?”

It was the pronoun game.

“No, I was talking about…” The phone ringing cut off what Emma was sure was a pep talk about Walsh. The conversation was left unfinished as Emma went to investigate the case of the missing trash can lids. Spoiler: some of the kids were using them for sledding.

It was a full two days later before she saw Killian again. Granted he had texted a few times and called her “by accident” when he claimed he had meant to call her mother to discuss strategy. He was humming a tune and scrolling through his tablet when she and her son, Henry, spotted him inside the library. Apparently, he had set up shop in the corner and had everything but a receptionist there to greet visitors. Her son, who had heard his name a few times from his grandparents, pointed him out in a totally obvious way that made Emma want to crawl under the table. Somehow she managed to take a few steps closer and do more than the wave she originally planned.

“Nice office,” she said of the table he had commandeered. “Quiet I guess.”

“It has it’s perks,” he offered. “I was heading over to talk to your father. He said he would be at the station this afternoon. I take it you are not?”

“Short break to get my son home before I go back to face the files on my desk.” She knew her son was already done checking out his three books and would be joining them any second. She only hoped he would not blurt out an inappropriate question. She was about to send up a silent prayer when she noted that the glove Killian normally wore on his left hand was off and a synthetic material prosthetic was in its place. Before she could say anything, he looked down at the hand as though surprised by it and shrugged.

“Naval accident, an accident.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize,” she said not sure what else to say about it. It was clearly an old injury and hardly one she had a blame in causing.

“Tis an old pain,” he told her. “Most days I don’t really think of it.”

She nodded, glancing at her son who was still in conversation with Belle. “Does that mean you are getting more comfortable with me?” She instantly regretted saying that, as it came off a little weak.

“You do seem to put me at ease, love.” He winked at her and leaned a little to the left as her son ran up beside her. “You, lad, must be Henry. Your grandparents tell me you are quite the author.”

Henry nodded enthusiastically and continued the conversation for a few more beats, nearly forgetting his mother was there. Even a comment from another patron, Will, that Killian was clearly trying to get to the mother through the son, went unnoticed by all but Emma who stood taller and tried to let it slide. Killian was quite the conversationalist, observantly noting that Henry was holding a book on piracy along the New England states. That really got them going until Emma reminded Henry that she needed to drop him off at home to meet the tutor and get back to work.

That was how she ended up with Killian sitting in her living room and then the two of them walking side by side back to the station to interview her father. He opened doors for her, asked her less probing questions, and complimented the way she handled one of the boys known for getting into trouble with a stern look and warning. She was starting to feel natural about it all when he stopped short at the wreath decorated double doors and scratched behind his ear.

“I was wondering, love,” he said, shifting his eyes to the door and back to her again. “Rather I was hoping you might…well, bloody hell, I was hoping to ask you on that date. I gather you weren’t aware of who I was or why I was here when you sort of asked me.”

“I thought you were the guy my parents set me up with this year. It wasn’t my finest moment.”

He smiled nervously, his lips tight and his eyes again darting to the doors. She realized he was looking to see if her father was lurking. “It was rather adorable actually and I was thinking…”

She closed her eyes as he searched for the words, something she was sure he rarely did in his life. He always seemed to know the perfect thing to say and the perfect way to say it. “Killian, you don’t have to…”

“And if I want to?”

“Then maybe we could meet up tomorrow evening? Or wait no…tomorrow is the winter carnival for the kids at the orphanage and I am hosting the movie portion. Maybe Thursday…no Henry’s got his soccer game. I would say Friday but I’ve got choir practice and Saturday is mom’s campaign rally.” She truly looked sorry about her schedule as she shifted from one foot to the other.

“Busy lass,” he muttered. “I suppose we’ll have to consider another time. Or by chance are you free this evening?”

Biting down on her lip, she closed her eyes briefly. “I want to say yes, but my father is in there and I’d rather not mention this to him. And given that my son is likely to either eat potato chips and chocolate milk for dinner, stay up past bedtime for video games or inappropriate movies, or worst yet burn the place down in an attempt to see what he can melt in the oven, I’m thinking I need a back up babysitting plan that doesn’t include my parents.”

“Rather not hear the I told you so? Or are you hoping to keep me your little secret?”

“My parents are a little on the enthusiastic side when it comes to my love life.” She tilted her head back for a moment and then made eye contact again. “I have a plan, but you have to swear to me that we won’t be going to Granny’s or any place else they would be spotted.”

He assured her that paper napkins weren’t on the menu. “I have no issue with being circumspect, love. Trust me, I can plan an evening for us.”

If she didn’t trust him, she didn’t show it as he ushered her inside and greeted David. His cheeks were a little red from the cold and she knew hers were too. However, David never seemed to notice their conversation outside. She saw him pulling out his notes when she spoke up and asked David if Henry could perhaps have dinner with them. She managed to ask nonchalantly, simply a scheduling glitch.

“Any particular reason,” David asked, barely hiding his smile.

“I’m going out,” she answered vaguely, crossing her denim clad legs and pulling a stack of files into her lap. “Did you see Leroy’s file? I need to check about his court date.”

“Haven’t seen it. Anyone I know?” He was trying to watch her in the reflection of his computer screen, sneaking a few knowing looks at Killian who was flipping casually through his notebook.

“Oh you know,” she said, pausing to look at a document, “that guy from your party.” She didn’t want to lie to her dad, but she could tell he was not going to let up. It was one thing to have her father believe it was Walsh but another to flat out tell him that.

Killian seemed to understand, interrupting the awkwardness with a cheeky smile. “Since Emma appears to be on a deadline and you’ll be entertaining the lad this evening, it sounds like we need to get through these questions to prepare your wife’s talking points. Let’s start with the most obvious. You have a role that is second in command here at the station and in the community. How does that work with you effectively reporting to your own daughter?”

Emma let out a little sigh and as her father droned on about how proud he was of her, she shot Killian a grateful look. Her father seemed to take pride in both his work and how well she did her job, showing him pictures of celebrations after tough cases were solved and the commendations she had gotten from the governor. Most grown children worry that they aren’t successful enough or are somehow a disappointment to their parents. Emma didn’t have that worry when David Nolan talked about her.

He was still talking about how well Emma had worked with Regina who was stepping down to concentrate on her new life when Emma slipped out to change. Neither he nor Killian seemed to notice that she almost spoke up twice to tell Killian that maybe tonight wasn’t the best timing. Then she reminded herself of Ruby’s advice. He was a nice and more than good looking man. He didn’t even live here. So what if she went out with him. It was just fun.

She repeated that to herself as she went to her car to head home and change. That is until the realization hit that she didn’t really have anything to wear. A trip to one clothing store in town would rouse suspicion and the tailor was a friend of her mother’s. There was only one place to go.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

“No leather, no spiked heels, no red, no plunging necklines, and I would preferably like to sit down without flashing everyone in town,” Emma said as Ruby dove into the bowels of her closet up above Granny’s. The woman had squealed, hugged Emma, and asked if certain parts had been shaved or waxed. Emma assured her that was not an issue and that she just needed something that didn’t have the capacity for her shoulder or hip holster. Ruby had of course said she had just the thing.

With no sign of her wardrobe addition, Emma looked at her phone and two unread texts.

Killian: Your father is in search of your old scouting badges. I feel like we should have code words. Perhaps not. Meet me at the docks at 7?

She answered quickly, not wanting Ruby to interfere with the response that would probably be inappropriate. A quick see you then and an internally debated smiley emoji would have to suffice. The next message was from her mother.

Mom: David says you have a date. Very exciting. When you come by to pick Henry up, I want to hear all about it. I’ll wait up.

Her mother was going to be an issue. She loved the eternal optimist that was her mother, a woman who had more than her fair share of darkness, including losing two parents early in life, but rose above it to see the good in people. Wasn’t that what Emma was doing. She was seeing the good in Killian despite the voices inside that said this was a bad idea. Well, she could rationalize it that way. Her mother truly wanted a happily ever after for her daughter, something even  Emma couldn’t disagree with in scheme of things. The fact that her mother even believed in such things was pretty amazing.

Ruby emerged with a black dress that looked more like a set of random strips all stitched together. Beneath it was a red dress that flared out and looked more appropriate for dancing. And beneath that was a soft mauve frock with a full skirt and wrapped bodice. She knew that was the one she wanted to wear, but knowing Ruby she had to at least try the others. Half an hour later she was wearing the lighter colored dress, matching nude heels, and her hair was what her friend called casually curled.

She was standing with her arms crossed for warmth at the docks at 7:01 when Killian emerged from one of the sailboats with a single red rose in his hands. “Apparently,” he said, steadily walking the gang plank despite the swell of the waves that had her not quite sure if she was standing still or not, “it is nearly impossible to procure just a rose this time of year. You almost ended up with a pot of poinsettias.”

“It’s beautiful,” she remarked. “You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

He assured her that it was no trouble and that she was beautiful herself. Below deck he had a small table set with real dishes and flatware, a bottle of wine and containers of pastas and sauces from the Italian restaurant she had mentioned. The only thing, he mused, was that he could not do the candles since such items were not really safe on a boat.

“Confession time,” he said, clinking his glass with hers. “I borrowed the boat. I don’t have one here in Storybrooke.”

“I knew that,” she admitted. “It’s my uncle Leroy’s boat.”

“Short man, scruffy looking, kind of grumpy?”

“Always grumpy, yes. It’s nice of you though. Not too many prying eyes.”

He took a sip and pondered that for a moment. “I take it that you would prefer to keep things clandestine just in case. I am also guessing that you gave the information to your friend Ruby just in case I turn out to be a murderer.”

“I can take care of myself.” She squared her shoulders off.

“Aye, I believe you can, love.”

The rest of the meal passed with pleasant conversation and only a few awkward pauses that were usually filled before it got to be too much. Killian had even brought along a set of speakers to stream music allowing them to dance. It was a tough that even Emma thought was sweet as his arms were around her in a way that she admitted fit. She wasn’t sure how much life was left in his phone or when the clouds that had been building all day would open up with snow, but time seemed to stand still as they swayed. Her eyes closed and her head resting against his right shoulder. He lifted their entwined hands and softly kissed hers. She was glad her eyes were closed and her head nestled against his chest.

She could feel his breathing change and his hold feeling tense. Her name came out as a whisper from him. She lifted her head and found his eyes searching hers. “Emma? I would very much like to kiss you.”

“I’m not sure you can handle that,” she teased in just as soft of a voice. Yet she closed the space between them and let him close the rest. Their lips touching softly at first and then with more passion. Her hands gripped at his shirt, pulling him toward her and his hand hovered at her hair before threading through it with a sort of awe she had never experienced.

They might have stayed like that for a while had the siren of her dad’s cruiser not shattered the cold and quiet night. Maybe they should have stayed below deck, ignored her father’s presence on the docks. However, that plan faded as his footsteps grew closer and she knew, just knew that someone had spotted them on Leroy’s boat and reported it. Resigned to the fate that her father was about to find out who her date was with and probably have an opinion about it, she took a step back and turned to climb up into the cold. While he said nothing, Killian placed his own jacket, a worn leather one, over her shoulders. It was a gentlemanly gesture and one that shouldn’t surprise her.

“Dad?” she asked, holding one hand over her eyes to shield it from the giant flakes falling silently from the sky. “Did something…”

Her father looked startled and even a little embarrassed to see her there. His breathing was normalizing when Killian emerged too, which sent his eyes wide and his gasp of surprise sharpening. “I didn’t realize…”

“Everything okay, mate?” Killian asked. His dark colored shirt and black vest offered little warmth against the plummeting temperatures. However, he did not indicate it by shivering or otherwise complaining.

“Sure…I mean I was just answering a call about someone attempting to break in cars when I saw Emma’s bug. Someone said they thought they saw the suspect run this way and…”

Emma gave her father a nod, taking a deep breath to switch back into her role as sheriff. “Any description?”

Her father’s eyes drifted to where Killian’s hand was covering hers and giving it a slight squeeze of reassurance. They narrowed and his voice faltered as he answered, “light colored hair, red sweatshirt, about 5’9”, thin.”

“Sounds like a juvenile,” Emma assessed. “I’m assuming we don’t have any camera visuals. Last time we investigated over here the cameras were malfunctioning and I haven’t noticed…”

“Emma,” her father said, his boots shuffling a little on the worn planks of the dock that were beginning to be covered in snow. “You don’t have to…I mean…You’re on a date…I guess you are.”

“Well, yeah,” she said, glancing at Killian who seemed to be enjoying the moment. Suddenly she felt the urge to clear up the misconceptions she had caused. “I didn’t mean to…” She cleared her throat. “I know you probably thought I meant I was seeing that Walsh guy.”

“Your mother’s buying an entertainment center from him,” David answered with confusion. “It’s not my business who…but where is Walsh?” He did manage to lower the flashlight and seem less ominous there on the docks, but still had his hand on his hip and was rocking backwards as he waited for explanations.

“I’m not really sure. I haven’t exactly seen him since the party.” Emma glanced at Killian who was standing closer to her than she realized. That wasn’t exactly unpleasant as a prospect. “Killian and I…”

“You and Killian,” he father parroted with the confusion that it hadn’t dawned on him. “You and Killian what?”

Killian gave her hand another squeeze and took a step forward as though offering himself as tribute. “Aye, mate. I do fancy your daughter and she and I have been spending time together.”

Blinking back at them, David appeared to running through the occasions he had seen them together and attempting to digest this information. “So the conversation about intentions toward Emma should be delivered to you and not Walsh?” It was too dark to know for sure, but Emma thought he looked a little disappointed.

She reminded him that there was a potential thief on the loose and he assured her he had it under control and to go back to her date. Killian just sort of shrugged and offered his analysis that it wasn’t that much of a secret after all. They talked a bit longer, took a slow walk toward her car, and both hopped in with him saying he would walk to Granny’s after she was safely at her parents with her son.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, speeding up the wipers against the snow. “I can drop you off. No need for you to freeze.”

He looked toward her in the dark car and gave her a soft smile. “Your father is bound to have told your mother about our date, love. I know you had hoped to keep it secret. I only wanted to offer my services should you want them to fend off her disappointment and concern.” He jumped when she placed her hand over his prosthetic.

“I didn’t mean for it to be a secret. I guess I just don’t want to disappoint them with another failed attempt at matchmaking. My mother has to be ready to give up by now.”

“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “she might have to give up anyway. If we were to date, surely she would not attempt to replace me each year.” Her hand jerked away fast, something he noticed. “I hoped you might want…”

She sighed, turning her car off the coastal road to the one that led toward town. “Killian, I am the one who originally asked you out. Even if that was a misunderstanding. I had fun. I enjoy spending time with you. But…”

“But?”

“But we live in two different cities. The special election is going to be over next month. What kind of relationship can we have when you’ll be off on your next job and I’ll still be here? I’m not 18 and free to wander around after you. I have a job, parents, a son, and responsibilities.”

“We could…”

“Killian, I like you. I like spending time with you, but I’m not interested in starting a go no where or long distance relationship. I want more than a pen pal. Think about it. You do too.” The driveway of the farmhouse was coming into sight and then disappeared as she passed it. “I’ll take you back to Granny’s. No sense in talking to my mother about this. We’ll just say it was a one time thing.”

“As you wish.” His voice was quiet, deep, and almost wistful.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

As the holidays grew nearer, Emma’s parents and Killian went into campaign overdrive. There were photoshoots of the whole family on the farm. Her mother even managed to sneak in a few candid shots of Emma and Killian. Speaking of Mary Margaret, she was only mildly disappointed at Emma’s secret that she was not seeing Walsh. That was quickly erased as she said she had considered setting her daughter up with Killian, but was quickly dissuaded when her internal voice said her daughter would object. Nobody corrected her on it.

For his part, Killian worked hard and would try to sneak in time with Emma. They shared a few lunches, walked around the farm discussing a few strategies, and shopped together for a present for her parents. He sat with them on Christmas Eve when Emma performed with the choir for mass, looking just as in awe and proud as her parents did. He even joined them for the evening meal on Christmas, leaving behind a gift for Emma rather than making a big deal of her opening it in front of everyone.

As the wreathes were removed and the snow seemed not as white, the election day finally drew close and Killian was even more of a fixture. He was constantly showing up with a new tactic and shoving his client in front of cameras to announce a proposed initiative. Everything from illiteracy to hunger would be addressed by Mary Margaret Nolan for mayor. When election day arrived, more than 60% of the voters chose her and he beamed proudly from the sidelines. Most people noticed the hug shared between Emma and Killian, but it seemed to be just part of the celebration. It went so long into the night that nobody really saw the two of them saying goodbye the next morning.

“I wish it was different,” she admitted, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps someday, love. After all, nothing stays the same.”

She watched as the Uber driver loaded his bags and Killian reluctantly slid into the backseat. Their eyes were locked and the unsaid words hung in the air. She wasn’t sure she even breathed again until she was pulling up in front of her parents’ house. Her father was flipping pancakes, but her mother was at the doorway even as she dragged up the steps of the front porch.

“I like him,” her mother said. “He’s a good man.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed, accepting the hug and hurrying in before the next gust of wind. “I just…I don’t want this every time we see each other. I don’t want to miss him and have the constant feel like a clock is counting down the hours.”

“I know, Emma. And that is very practical, but if you…”

Emma didn’t wait for her mom to finish the statement before greeting her father and asking about setting the table. It wouldn’t be the last time that her mother brought him up. She would over the next few months, mentioning seeing him at some event or another. Emma never asked, but her mother would always update her on his well being. It wasn’t that Emma didn’t know. He still called. He texted. When he was in the area he would invite her to dinner or to an event. She occasionally went but always told herself it was just casual. He never tried to kiss her again and she never sat herself too close to him, despite Ruby’s advice to do so.

A book he had mentioned to her once said of the protagonist and her lover turned best friend, “they would continue to call and write until eventually they were just acquaintances and no longer a real part of each other’s lives.” That’s what Emma resigned herself to when he didn’t answer her text or voicemail inviting him to her parents’ annual party. He’d been pretty scarce for the past few weeks. Their conversations short and usually interrupted by something or someone. She once even heard a female voice in the background and wondered if he was seeing someone. That idea hurt more than she wanted to admit.

She wore red to her parents’ party, her hair hanging loose and the smile on her face tense and unyielding. She was sipping on champagne and watching as Regina and Robin twirled around the room still in bliss nearly a year after their wedding. Walsh was there too, dancing with Zelena and inking a new design deal with Marco. Neal had brought Tink as his date, which made Emma roll her eyes. And her parents were at their prime greeting and hugging all of those in attendance.

“Emma,” her mother called out when a few more guests were greeted. “Come here. I want you to say hello to someone.”

Ruby gave her a sympathetic look as Emma begrudgingly dragged her feet over to where her parents were standing. And there he stood, Killian in a freshly pressed suit with a wide smile on his face as she approached. Her mother was giddy as she mockingly introduced them. “Emma, you remember my old campaign manager, Killian, right? Well, he was in town getting settled because his new job at the governor’s office starts next month. I was thinking that he might be just the kind of guy you’d like to get to know.”

[spartanguard]

even death won’t part us now (3/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

rated M | part 1 | part 2 | AO3 | 5.8k words

A/N: So I’m not entirely sure what my posting schedule will be like but it’s looking like every 8 days. This chapter is a ton of CS goodness that I hope you like! Thanks again to @optomisticgirl​​ for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair​​ for her amazing art (LOOK AT THIS NEW PIECE OMG); and to @kmomof4​​ and @cssns​​ for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

sorrynotsorry for the Hamilton references; I couldn’t resist

I know they’re not actually singing but the movie is still awesome

part three—tonight, tonight; it all began tonight

Emma couldn’t help it; she was entranced. After so many years thinking she’d merely dreamed of their existence, to suddenly see those blue eyes—and the handsome face they belonged to—it kind of made the world seem to slow. The music, the moving bodies between them—it all seemed to hit some sort of decrescendo, and she found her feet moving toward him without her telling them to.

His gaze hadn’t left hers since they locked eyes, and it was almost as if the crowd was parting around them, leaving a clear path for her to finally meet the man who’d haunted her peripheral vision the last 15 years.

Then, suddenly, he was there in front of her. She breathed; she could smell him—something warm and spicy and vaguely like rum and leather—but there was no heat radiating from him like a human would have. Despite that, there was a solidness to him that proved he wasn’t a hallucination.

“You’re real,” she breathed.

“Aye,” he said in an accented voice. “You’re still here.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” she answered, slightly confused but more enamored than anything. 

“I’m glad,” he said, then reached for her hand. She continued to stare, entranced, as he brought it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. If her stomach was still capable, it would have flipped. Part of her wondered if he’d walked straight out of a Jane Austen novel, but the odds of him being that old (or older) were significant.

“I apologize if I kept you waiting,” he continued.

“I’m patient.”

“So am I.”

Without further ado, he stepped into her space; normally, she would have moved the opposite direction, but not tonight. Whatever that feeling was she’d gotten earlier—a warning, a sign, an omen—this was what it was bracing her for; she knew it.

(Apparently, she could be a hopeless romantic when she really wanted to be. Suck on that, Snow.)

He wrapped his free arm around her and she felt hers slip up to his (firm) shoulder, like some long-lost muscle memory was taking over. Then he took a step, and she followed. Then another, and another, until they were dancing in their own little circle in the middle of everyone.

“What is this?” she asked, the haze of her shock finally clearing a bit.

“It’s called a waltz,” he answered matter-of-factly. “And the only rule is: pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Innuendo was dripping off that statement, and Emma decided she wouldn’t mind figuring out what else he knew how to do—at some point, at least; not here, not with all these people around. 

“I feel like I’ve been seeing you out of the corner of my eyes for years,” she confessed as they continued to step and sway. 

“I wish I could say you have, but I’ve been abroad the past several; there’s no way I would let a woman as lovely as you pass me by without giving her my full and prompt attention.”

She smiled; god, how long had it been since someone genuinely flirted with her? Someone who wasn’t looking for just a one-night fling. (Her sense for these things had only gotten sharper over the years—he was genuinely interested in her, she could tell. And the feeling was mutual.)

“It was you, right?” she asked, moving in a bit closer. “From the night I turned?”

Before he could answer, though, a firm hand was on her shoulder, pulling her away and rudely tugging her back into reality—David.

“Dad, what the hell?” she complained as he moved in front of her, almost like he was shielding her.

“Get back, Emma; he’s not safe,” David commanded, not taking his eyes off of—shit, Emma didn’t even know his name yet. But he too was surrounded by a couple other vampires, and Graham quickly joined the fray.

“He’s with Aurum,” Snow whispered in her ear, suddenly appearing at her side. “And Regina is here with him.”

Oh, shit—Regina was the one who turned her parents. Which meant she could control them, if she was so inclined; just another reminder of how lucky Emma was that her sire was gone. 

“We need to go—now,” Snow hissed, grabbed Emma’s arm, and started to pull her from the crowd.

“Dad!” Emma shouted, because it looked like he was confronting one of the Aurum guys. She knew he could hear her, but he was locked in a tense conversation, albeit brief; she couldn’t hear their exchange over the thumping dance music, but it was obvious from their body language that the tone was tense. She and Snow were nearly out the back door before he and Graham caught up to them and Snow finally loosened her grip on Emma’s arm.

Emma shook off her mother and peered through the door before it mechanically shut behind them. She got one last look of those too-blue eyes, still staring at her from across the bar, before the door closed.

Just her luck: the first time a guy actually gets her attention in at least 25 years, he’s completely unavailable to her due to some stupid ancient rivalry.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Killian raged as he was unceremoniously pulled away from Emma and out of a fog of enchantment—by Robin, of all people. 

“Saving your skin,” Robin answered sharply. “She’s with Coroza.”

Fucking hell—he’d completely forgotten who he’d left her with. Bloody stupid ageless feud. But sure enough, when he looked back, he saw she was still with the Nolans. At the very least, his instincts there had been good. 

She was being dragged away by Snow, but David and another guy—Gary? no, Graham—hung back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” David barked angrily.

“I could ask the same of you,” Robin snarled back, showing his descended fangs and approaching David. “Should have known this club would be trash.”

“Then maybe you should get back to your side of the border and leave us be.”

“Or maybe you should find another feeding ground altogether; I’m sure the fare in New Jersey is cheap enough for your palate.”

“That’s enough. This ends tonight,” David spat. Killian was pretty sure David didn’t have the authority to proclaim that, but he didn’t know the hierarchy in Coroza (and certainly wasn’t up to date on it) well enough to call his bluff.

“Fine,” Robin snarled. “Meet me at Granny’s tonight, 3:00. We’ll set the terms there.”

“Fine.” David turned and left with no further comment; Graham was quick to follow, but leveled a withering glare at Killian first that, if he wasn’t mistaken, was tinged with jealousy.

Whatever. Killian looked past both of them, through the back door of the establishment—where he caught one last glimpse of green eyes and blonde hair before the door closed. He prayed that wasn’t a metaphor.

Robin was quick to usher them all out, and Killian followed, not wanting to make a scene. But he quickly wracked his brain for his old recollection of addresses, and just had to hope the Nolans had the same habit towards moving (or rather, not) that the majority of vampires held. 

That was not the last time he saw Emma—he was going to be sure of that.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Emma was mature enough to admit that by the time they got home, she was sulking; that teenager feeling she had earlier was definitely still relevant. Her dad and Graham were talking strategy, it sounded like, and her mom was trying to comfort her, it seemed—though over what, she wasn’t sure.

Finally, they reached the townhouse; the boys disappeared to the downstairs office while Emma and Snow headed to the little-used kitchen. At least there was a bottle of black-market blood vodka in the fridge; Emma needed something to take the edge off, her drinking plans being interrupted.

She poured a shot for both her and Snow and quickly downed it. Snow, though, looked at hers a bit pensively. 

“I’m sorry your night out got ruined.”

“It’s fine; it happens,” Emma shrugged off. “I’ve got plenty more to come.”

“I know, but...god, I hate it when they show up like that.”

Emma didn’t let her mom see her roll her eyes; again, she didn’t give two shits about the rivalry—it was the way it seemed to bring out the worst in people that she had issue with. That was what ruined the night; not the mere presence of someone she was supposed to hate.

(Someone whose name she still didn’t know and was most likely the reason she’d been reunited with her parents in the first place—but that wasn’t something she was going to bring up right now.)

“Well, did you at least have fun with Graham?” Snow asked, happy to change the subject. Emma was less receptive.

“I barely even talked to him,” she scoffed.

“I wish you would. He’s a great guy.”

Emma didn’t hide her exasperation this time. “Yeah, he is—as a friend. I just...don’t like him like that.”

“Emma,” her mom sighed, then stepped close enough to wrap her in a hug. “That wall around your heart...it may keep out pain, but it can also keep out love. I just don’t want that for you.”

Emma’s mind immediately jumped to blue eyes and the sense of being drawn in by some unseen force. “I know, Mom, but—you’ve gotta let me do it on my own,” she said, rubbing Snow’s arm.

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed.

Emma gave a loving pat on Snow’s bicep, but then pried herself out of her mom’s embrace. “I’m going back up to the roof; I’ll be down later.”

“Alright; be safe.”

Emma chuckled; she was far more dangerous than any other predator out there. But she promised she would and headed up the stairs.

The sounds and smells of the city enveloped her again as she exited on the roof, hints of stars twinkling past the light pollution. It was a balmy and clear enough night that she’d probably consider staying up here for the rest of it, but for now, she was content to sit on the ledge overlooking the alley behind the building. It wasn’t particularly picturesque, but every now and then, a person would stumble through and Emma would feel a bit less alone in the world. 

Despite the family she’d found, being a vampire—and only truly walking the world during the dark—was far more isolating than she’d ever imagined.

Movement in the alley caught her attention; something was sliding through the shadows. It was usually just a stray cat, but this figure was much larger; despite her enhanced vision, it was too far away to make out until it came into the small bit of light that came from the streetlamp a quarter of a block down.

And then she gasped: it was him. Even in the faint light, she could see the sharp blue of his eyes—and they were staring right at her. 

“But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?” he said softly, loud enough for her to hear clearly but not for the average human. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”

If she could blush, she’d be blushing. 

“Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,” he continued, moving closer to the building and carefully stepping onto the fire escape’s ladder. “Who is already sick and pale with grief.”

“Don’t tell me you’re so old that you actually knew Shakespeare,” she teased; she’d heard rumors that there were a few around here who did, though (including someone in charge of Shakespeare in the Park).

“She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head.” He carefully continued the recitation as he climbed gracefully and almost silently. 

“Wait—watch out for the—!” she whisper-yelled—but it was too late. He wasn’t looking where he was reaching and grabbed for the loose rung three from the top with his left—hook? She wasn’t sure how she hadn’t noticed the prosthesis in the bar, but steel met rusty iron, which immediately gave way, leaving him dangling from his right hand. She hopped off her perch, saying “Shit—let me help!”

He chuckled; a low rumble that went straight to her core. “I’m fine, love; I’ve got this.”

And in a move that had no business being either physically possible or as ridiculously hot as it was, he somehow vaulted himself onto the roof with only his right arm.

She just gaped and blinked, her jaw literally dropping, as he landed in front of her with bent knees and then rose to his full height. He smirked, revealing a dimple in his scruff that was far too adorable for the far-from-innocent expression.

“How are you even real?” she blurted out.

“Well, many years ago, I was born, and then—”

“No, no, no,” she cut off; of course he was a smartass. “I know you’re real—I can feel it, felt it—but like...it’s like you walked out of the pages of some fairy tale,” she stammered.

His smirk fell a bit. “If I did, it certainly wasn’t a happy one—perhaps the Grimms’ version?” he posited, stepping toward her.

“Our lives certainly are as graphic as one,” she agreed. 

“I’d say,” he added, then waved his hook for emphasis. Oh god—he’d definitely know better than she would, clearly. She was totally messing this up, wasn’t she? 

“Sorry; I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he waved off. “I know you didn’t.” There was no resentment in his voice; he meant it. In a city full of pissed-off assholes, it was nice to find one who wasn’t easily offended. 

For a long moment then, silence fell over them (as much as anything could be silent in the city) but it wasn’t awkward; his eyes flitted over her as if he was studying her, so she tried to do the same, but had a hard time getting past the bit of chest hair revealed by the open buttons at the collar of his dress shirt. But then she could tell he was smirking again, which made her realize she was staring. 

She averted her gaze to a cracked concrete tile she’d been meaning to fix for...at least 10 years. “Um, sorry about earlier—in the bar, what happened; my dad, he can get—”

“It’s fine, love; my friends are the same,” he interrupted. “Frankly, I'd forgotten the rivalry was still a thing.”

“Oh shit—are you going to be in trouble for being here?”

“Not if I’m not caught,” he shrugged off. “'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.”

She smiled at how smooth he pulled that off. “Except I don’t even know your name,” she tossed back. 

“Oh, bloody—” he cursed to himself, running his hand through his dark hair, then straightened back up. “Killian Jones,” he said, adding in a slight bow, “at your service, ma’am.”

God, even his name sounded too fancy to be real. Although, there was probably something equally fantastical about hers. “Emma Swan,” she replied.

“I know.”

Her eyebrows raised. “You do?”

“To answer your question from earlier—if you’re referring to the night that Walsh Baum died after turning his last girlfriend, then yes, that was me who found you.” So she was right—she knew she was, deep in her gut, but to have confirmation was nice. “I’d been sent to follow you to make sure that didn’t happen. But obviously, I wasn’t successful there.”

She tilted her head, assessing the way he was decidedly not meeting her eyes on that last part. “That’s not the whole truth, is it?” Her ability to sense a lie, particularly in humans but also in other vampires, was a well-honed tool. 

“You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?” he rebuffed, still focusing on his hook instead of her. 

“When I need to be.” She didn’t feel like she was in any danger; but her curiosity demanded to know. 

“I was supposed to kill you,” he said quietly. “But I couldn’t.”

Well. That was not what she expected.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Killian’s memory hadn’t failed him; the Nolans still lived in the same quaint little Hell’s Kitchen home. The view from the alley across the street was little changed in the last 15 years; just different cars parked on the street; different adverts glued to the utility poles.

He made his way to the alley alongside the building, clinging to the shadows to avoid being seen; he was very good at that. But then a golden spotlight drew his attention: Emma, perched on the edge of the roof, looking fully ethereal in the glow of the yellow streetlight.

And, well, his more theatrical side took over from there. (Yes, it was completely showing off by using only one arm to leap onto the roof, but he hadn’t gotten this far without knowing how to impress a lass.)

He was a little surprised at how well Emma was able to read him; but it was a firm reminder that despite his tracking her (and subsequent years of daydreaming), and despite their intense moment earlier, he really didn’t know her. 

Oh, but he wished to. 

“I was supposed to kill you,” he reluctantly revealed. “But I couldn’t.”

Her green gaze had already turned suspicious, and with that statement, he could almost see the physical walls going up behind them.

“So, what, you’re here to finish the job?” she accused.

“No,” he vehemently assured her. “I had no desire to kill you then, and even less now.” 

Her features softened, but only slighting. “Should I be worried about someone else coming after me?”

“As far as Aurum knows, you’re already dead. If they knew you weren’t, let's just say neither of us would be here to have this conversation.”

The tiniest sparkle of amusement ticked at the corner of her mouth. “I mean, technically I am dead,” she joked. “But...why didn’t you?”

That same familiar expression was in her face as he saw it 15 years ago. “You had that look in your eyes—the one you get when you’ve been left alone. And I...I know what that’s like, and I didn’t think you deserved to die like that.”

He hadn’t intended to make things so heavy, but he also knew he couldn’t withhold the truth. Although he was surprised at how easily he told her; it had taken nearly a decade to reveal anything of his past to Robin, and yet something told him he’d be spilling his full backstory to Emma over the course of the night. 

On her end, she seemed to be slightly overwhelmed by the statement; her eyes had gone wide and she was taking unnecessarily deep breaths (unnecessary in that she needn’t take any at all). “Thank you,” she said resolutely, and he could hear the weight in her simple words. 

Even after two and a half centuries, he still hadn’t learned to accept gratitude, so he just nodded and ducked his head a bit, trying to hide the blush that wasn’t there. “I can’t say it was entirely selfless,” he continued in an attempt to shrug it off. “There’s something to be said about finding a way to disobey the man who’s controlled you for the last 200-plus years.”

“Yeah, but sending me to the other side?”

He had to roll his eyes. “I hardly care about some petty, pointless rivalry that’s stretched through the centuries. While I may be under the thumb of Aurum, I don’t give two whits about sides.”

“Thank God someone else doesn’t,” she blurted out. “Like, I get why my parents do—Regina is the one that turned them, and not gonna lie, that is a bit of a sore spot for me—but that’s a personal issue. No reason to join a gang.”

He chuckled a bit at her simple but rational logic. “Aye; I’m likewise not much a fan of Cora—she killed my love, many years ago—but I only hold that against her; not the rest of her coven.” To this day, he still didn’t know if Cora had singled Milah out because of her connection with him, or her connection with Gold; either way, she had been murdered, and there was naught he could do.

“Eesh, that sucks.”

“Aye, it did.”

“It doesn’t anymore?”

“I was angry for a very long time, but the pain dissipated over the years—and I’ve had many of them. Plus,” he added, stepping towards her, “I found someone else has caught my attention recently.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, even though she seemed to know the answer, and smiled. “Who?”

“Well, you see, there's been this fierce blonde running through my dreams the last 15 years or so, and now that I’ve properly met her, I must say—she fascinates me.”

“What a coincidence; you fascinate her, too.”

“Aye?”

“Yeah, and she’s been seeing your blue eyes out of the corner of hers for years now.”

She had moved into his space on that last statement, and the air between them was full of a static tension Killian had never felt before, as if it was drawing them together. This wasn’t the same as what had happened in the club—this was electric, begging for release, and—

—And suddenly his lips were on hers, or perhaps the other way around, but it didn’t really bloody matter because she was soft and warm under him, against him, pressed tight against his body and he knew—he didn’t know how, but he knew—he’d never kiss another pair of lips again.

O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Holy shit—Killian could kiss. 

Emma wasn’t entirely sure who initiated it; just that she couldn’t resist it (him) anymore without touching him. It was like the opposite ends of a magnet being drawn together: inevitable and forceful. 

(Which, given the whole rival teams thing, was probably appropriate.)

Emotionally, her walls weren’t entirely down—they didn’t fall that easily, not anymore, if ever—but she could tell they weren’t going to last, and not just because of his make out skills. She’d known him all of ten minutes and already he understood her better than anyone ever had—more than Neal, more than Walsh, more than her parents even. 

That said: his scruff left a delicious burn on her lips and she could taste the blood rum he’d had earlier, sweet and spiced and so like him and she wanted to get drunk on it (especially since her shot at actual inebriation for the evening had gone out the window).

And the one nice thing about making out when you were technically undead: you didn’t have to come up for air. She tilted her head to deepen the kiss, ready to settle in for a while, pressing her entire body against his (and liking what she felt). A rush of arousal washed over her and—

—And her fangs dropped down of their own accord. What the fuck? That had never happened.

She pulled back when they did, instinctively not wanting to hurt him (though logically, she doubted she could). “Sorry,” she apologized breathlessly. “That’s never happened before.”

Killian let his forehead rest against hers. “I thought that was the guy’s line?”

She chuckled and lightly slapped his shoulder, then shifted her weight back a bit, trying to put some space between them—and the evidence of his own arousal, which was doing nothing to tamp hers down. 

Honestly, she was kind of embarrassed; she felt like some horny teenager losing her cool in the presence of an elder statesman. She’d had a few one-night stands since she turned, but nothing serious—and never felt anything as intense as what she felt right now, and they’d barely even touched. It was kind of overwhelming; not in a bad way, just not in a way she was ready to address just yet—at least, not seriously.

“You kiss pretty good for someone old enough to be my great-great-grandfather,” she teased, a smile playing at her lips while her hands, which had somehow ended up on his shoulders, pressed against the preternaturally firm muscles below them.

“There should probably be a few more greats in there,” he quipped back, his hand squeezing her hip and the brace of his prosthesis pressing against her other side.

“Oh really? Just when were you born?”

“The Ninth of April in the Year of Our Lord 1750,” he answered rather officially.

Emma whistled. “Damn. Good thing I like older men. How old were you when you were turned?”

“31.”

“Okay, still older.”

“It’s good to know that’s your entire criteria in seeking a partner.”

She snorted, but only to cover up the way she instinctively balked at his choice of words; she couldn’t deny that it was headed that way, though. Even if it had barely been an hour since their first exchange, it felt like forever ago—or maybe it was just because she’d been unconsciously chasing him for her entire afterlife.

Still—it felt like the world was starting to spin, and she needed it to slow down. She grabbed his hand and stepped away, but tugged him along with her. “Come here; I want to show you something.”

He followed without hesitation as she led him to her tent, but hesitated when she tried to drag him down onto the cushions. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I’d hate to intrude on what’s clearly something of a sanctuary,” he explained, nodding at her modest fortress. 

“You’re not; I’m inviting you in.” She hoped he understood the double meaning there. 

An adorably shy smile took over and he followed, falling gracefully to her left onto the mound of pillows. She reached to her other side and fiddled with some cords, and suddenly, light filled her makeshift tent as power flowed to the twinkle lights she’d rigged up along the crude wooden framing.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Killian gushed—genuinely, not placatingly—as he stared around.

“It’s better if you lay down,” she told him, then let herself fall back against the cushions; he followed suit.

“I wasn’t talking about the tent but I do agree—I can think of any number of enjoyable activities that involve a woman on her back.”

“You’re just full of one-liners, aren’t you?”

“I’ve had quite some time to accrue them.” 

“Fair.”

A thick sheet of clear vinyl formed most of the top of the tent; if she spent time up here during the day, she’d have stuck with something opaque, but given that she never used it when the sun was most at risk of frying her, it was perfect for dark, wet nights. “I love to come out here when it’s raining,” she explained, “and watch and hear it coming down above me. I could almost fall asleep.” You know, if that was a thing she could still do.

She turned to look at him, but he was staring up, a wistful smile on his face. “Aye, I can only imagine; I used to love the sound of it falling on the deck when I was in lower quarters.”

“What, were you a pirate?”

“Eventually, yes; but prior to that, served in His Majesty’s Royal Navy.”

“Which ‘his majesty’ was that?” 

“King George the Third.”

“Wait, like, Hamilton King George?” 

“One and the same.”

“Shit, you are old.”

“Why would I make that up?”

“I dunno; street cred?”

He chuckled. “That’s the farthest thing from my mind.”

Now her curiosity was piqued. “So, did you fight in the Revolution?”

“Aye, though we didn’t exactly call it that on our side.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t have.”

“No, but I did find my sympathies changing sides while stationed here.”

“What, liked it so much you decided to stay?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘decided,’ exactly,” he countered, then turned his head to look at her. Even with the change in angle, it was easy to see that his previous cockiness had given way to trepidation. “Is this where we divulge our tragic backstories?”

She grabbed his hand. “It can be, if you want.”

“Okay.” 

It almost seemed like historical fiction, the tale he told her: born in a poor fishing village, losing his mother when he was young and his father leaving them later, joining the Navy with his brother to get out of a terrible situation, being sent to America to fight the ‘rebels’, falling in love with a woman he met in a tavern in Boston, losing his brother and his hand in battle, and then all hell breaking loose. 

“Milah was nursing me back to help when, lo and behold, her husband located us. Gold.”

“No,” Emma gasped. 

“Aye. He was...less than pleased, as you can imagine, but she managed to talk him down. But we were out on the town some weeks later when Cora cornered us and murdered her. At that point, I had little to live for, and despite my injury, volunteered for the next battle; how my officer accepted me, I’ll never understand.”

“What battle was that?”

“Yorktown.”

“1781,” she automatically finished; she and her mom really listened to the Hamilton soundtrack way too much.

Thankfully, he laughed. “Yeah, that was the year. That was also where I was turned.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. It’s still my favorite song.”

He went on to explain how he was a bit too close to cannon fire from a Continental Navy ship, delivering a fatal blow to his chest that sent him overboard. If the internal bleeding hadn’t gotten him, he’d have likely drowned—except Gold was waiting nearby. “He’s never told me why he was there—if it was the general chaos or me explicitly—but I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

Killian was dragged through the brackish waters of Chesapeake Bay by Gold to the rough shore of a then-unpopulated island and turned; he wasn’t lucid enough to protest (to even notice who his would-be savior was) until it was too late. “My first meal was another soldier who’d washed ashore,” he admitted.

If she could still cry, she’d be wiping tears from her face. Holy shit—what a traumatic way to be turned—to even live. “God, I’m so sorry,” she told him, and squeezed his hand.

He shrugged. “It is what it is; ancient history now. I’m having a hard time complaining if that was what it took to bring me to you.”

Emma had to avert her gaze at that; he was not only telling the truth, he was wearing his damn heart on his sleeve, and it was intense. “Please, you hardly know if I’m worth that yet.”

“Emma,” he said softly, then gently turned her face back to him with his hook. “I’ve met thousands of people over the past two and a half centuries, and not one has made the impression you did in a fraction of the time. I feel...I feel like even if you were following me the last several years, I was chasing you my whole life.”

She needlessly swallowed; it was funny how physical reactions lingered even when they no longer served a purpose. But that was what she did when she was overwhelmed in life, and she was extra-whelmed now. 

Especially because, “I feel that way, too.” It was only a whisper but somehow the loudest thing she’d ever said.

Slowly, reverently, he pressed his lips against hers; she was still reeling emotionally, but his kiss was a welcome balm to her aching mind (or something vaguely poetic like that; she was too focused on how good it felt to come up with a good analogy). He deepened the kiss a bit and pulled her closer, but it wasn’t heated, just—she hated to say this so soon—loving.

It didn’t last long until he broke it, but he stayed close, his arms around her. “And you? I’d love to know more about your beginnings.”

“Not much to tell,” she shrugged. “Not as exciting as yours, at least.” She explained what happened with her parents and growing up in the foster system; her first love, her stint in jail, and the baby she gave up; and a brief summary of the years in between her release from jail and that night in Walsh’s apartment.

“Wait—so the Nolans are actually your parents? They birthed you?”

“Yup. I guess I should be thanking you for that, too.”

“No, love—that’s my pleasure. I mean, I had no idea, but I’m glad you were reunited. I had no idea their history with Regina.”

“It is what it is, but we’re making the best of it. Although I definitely feel like a teenager sometimes.”

“I can only imagine,” he chuckled. “And look at you now—hiding a boy from them and everything.”

She laughed, but it turned into a groan. “Ugh. I’m not looking forward to that conversation.”

“Don’t think of it, then. We have all the time in the world to figure that out.”

Just then, Killian’s phone started vibrated, making them both jump; a perfect reminder that things were not as simple as either of them would like.

“That’ll be Robin,” he muttered, then dug the device from his pocket and began replying to the message he’d received. “Shoot; I have to be at Granny’s in 10 minutes.”

“Can’t you do something to convince them to call this off?” she wondered. “We can’t be the only ones to think this is a petty feud.”

“I can certainly try; but we know how hot the tempers of our kind can run.” It was true; it sometimes felt like emotion had replaced bodily functions. Instead of her heart beating, she filled that void with pure emotion.

“I know, I know; but—try?”

“I will.”

They spent a few more minutes in the tent making out (and maybe a bit of dry humping, but Emma was cautious to not let it go too far lest her fangs make another unexpected appearance), and then stole any number of kisses as they made their way back across the roof to the fire escape.

“I hope it’s always this hard to say goodbye to you,” he murmured between a few last pecks.

“Then let’s not—how about ‘see you later’?” she proposed.

“When?”

“Granny’s, at dusk; I’m working tomorrow and I usually stop there to eat beforehand.”

“It’s a date.”

She grinned and gave him one final kiss, before he made a careful climb back down.

When he was firmly on the ground, he looked up and said quietly, “Not a moment will go by I don’t think of you.”

“Good,” was her simple reply, and he disappeared into the night.

(Something else was on the tip of her tongue, but she wasn’t ready to say it yet. However, it wouldn’t be much longer until she admitted it to both herself and him: she loved him.)

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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[imnotwolverine]

A Devil’s Duet - Part 4

August Walker x OC Anna

Author’s note: Okay, let me just have a little party! I never thought this day would come, but: I finished a multi chapter story in 4 chapters and stayed below 6.5k words. HALLELUJAH! *gives herself a shoulder pat* I hope you enjoyed it dear readers ❤️

Word count: 2.080

Warnings: graphic scenes, strong language, severe injury through burns, death

< Part 3 | This is Part 4

.FIRE 

“My lungs drowned and as I clawed and cried, the flame in me danced a devil’s duet.”

--

.FIRE - The dance with the devil

The helicopter danced in sync with August’s groans as Anna plucked at his neck, trying to get the tracker out. 

‘See those pretty rocks below, wife? Yes? Well you better put those pretty fingers to good use.’ He snarled atop the click of the loud blades. 

For a moment Anna contemplated screwing with him, in the literal or figurative sense of those words, but having gone rogue herself now complicated things ever so slightly - she did not want to be found either. And so with those same pretty fingers, she managed to at least kill the signal for the time being, the helicopter’s dance finally ending in a dark grove where they’d stay for the night, hidden away from the world yet again. 

An abandoned small cabin made for shelter, August and Anna taking first watch as the pilot crashed with exhaustion in the small box bed in the far corner, a quick curtain drawn between them. 

Candles were lit in the hearth to get a sense of light in the pitch black hut and then they just stared. Waiting for minutes to pass. 

‘You could’ve just killed me.’ Anna whispered, staring at the flickering flames. 

‘I should have.’ 

‘You could kill me now.’ They shared a look but August just shook his stone-faced head “no”, making Anna’s head quirk in delight, her lithe figure pushing off the bench as she moved to the small open space next to their bench. August trained his eyes back on the candles, expecting her to go relief herself or something. But curiosity got the better of him when he noticed her slithering, smooth movements, gracious like a swan as she ..danced. 

‘Stop that.’ 

But all she did was turn away from him, shaking her head “no” in response, the curve of her back mostly hidden beneath a grey jumper-jacket, though it still triggered it. Memories. Smooth red fabric beneath his finger tips. ‘You can touch me, you know.’ Her voice. Deep and sultry. ‘I only take what is given to me.’ He had answered, making her chuckle as she looked over her shoulder. ‘Then take this.’ And suddenly the red fabric turned sticky with dark blood, her empty cries echoing off the tiles of that stupid fucking diner. 

He had made a mistake. 

Anna turned around, watching the stray tear that was slowly cascading down August’s solemn face. Her breath hitched in surprise, but August refused to acknowledge it, unfazed as ever, his voice soft but icy: ‘I read your files.’ 

Anna licked her cold, parched lips. ‘We’re both sore losers, hmm?’

He nodded, looking back into the flames as the tear dropped from his chiseled cheek. ‘Why a dancer though?’ 

Anna smiled, enjoying the minor crack in the devil’s mask as she settled back down besides him. ‘Some things you should not want to kill.’ She shrugged. ‘Dancing is the only thing of the real me that’s still left.’ 

--

.FIRE - The beauty of it all

‘Stop that.’ 

‘C-c-can’t.’ Anna shivered from her dead cold corner of the small bed, her skin pressed against the thin wood that separated winter from warmth. 

Sighing, the log of a man turned, pushing his hot presence into her back. ‘I don’t want freezing dead bodies in my bed.’ He whispered, inserting a warm hand beneath her much-too-thin jacket, the burning sensation making her melt into him despite her initial defiance. 

She simply didn’t want this to be her end. Not now, not yet. 

And he, for one, also seemed to burn with life, his presence poking hard and heavy into her backside. She pushed back, making him melt into her more, rough whiskers brushing over her icy cheek, a slow hot breath washing over her skin as her frozen fingers moved to his pants, tugging restlessly at the band. 

‘Aii.’ He hissed at the touch of her icicles on his skin, his hand replacing hers as he ripped their clothes aside to manage their hasty bed-bunk union. 

The night hushed around them as tempered breaths escaped their dry lips, the shared quiet maintained until his hips jerked, making her want to push him off. 

‘No, please, not..’ 

He came, forcing his way into her snugness until she got her fill. 

‘..inside.’ She groaned in silent frustration. 

August brushed his hand back over her abdomen. ‘Don’t worry. The beauty of it all is that it won’t matter.’ 

‘Well you’re not the one getting pregn..-’

‘Sshh.’ He laid his nose in the back of her neck, pulling her even closer, her usual defiance tired out after hours of shivering. By tomorrow they’d all be dead. It wouldn’t matter. None of this would matter. None of this.. 

A sniffle disturbed his hunger for destruction, the hands of his ballerina-murder-wife tugging his arm closer, a first proper hug shared. 

‘Sssh.’ He hushed, thinking of how he should not make that same devilish mistake..again. 

--

.FIRE - The spark

The signal was back and the chase was on, the woods left abandoned as they continued a hurried journey to the meeting spot, more Apostles standing at the ready to start the last day of life as we knew it. 

Anna had expected to find death somewhere in the past few hours, but she was surprised to find herself in that same helicopter again, August’s cold eyes focused on the clouds that licked around the metal hull. 

What she couldn’t see in that moment, was the turmoil in his ocean gaze. The fire that flickered nervously as it was nearly time to end it all. She couldn’t see the bitter draw of his lips as he felt a sudden reminiscence of times long gone. 

You see, August had once been no devil, but flesh and blood. 

--

.FIRE - The time of spring

‘Look mama, mama, mama.’ 

Tiny feet ran off into the flock of white danger, large wings starting to flap in warning - a warning the little boy didn’t see until he was beaten and down on the ground, fat tears burning in his blue eyes as the massive beast hissed menacingly, the mother and children slipping quickly back into the water that they called their home. 

Little August could have cried then. But he didn’t. Instead he watched in awe as these majestic white beasts stretched their mighty wings, showcasing strength in beauty, as well as family and peace, a thing that seemed hard to obtain in a world that knew only beatings, cigarette butts on skin and loud, loud cries that sang with the breaking of plates in nightly kitchens.

If it’d cost him a broken arm to feel peace, he’d do it again and again. 

--

.FIRE - I’ll rekindle the fire

Anna didn’t know when she had finally found enough peace to sleep, but apparently it had been at the wrong moment. They were back in the air, but August was gone. As was the Kashmir encampment they had been flying out to early this morning.  

Fury licked at Anna’s bones as she realised he had done worse than killing her: he had cast her aside, maybe even tried to save her. 

Oh, you’re an idiot, Walker. 

Unbuckling her belt and reeling her anger at the single soul left in this flying hull, she realised too late that this had been bad thinking on her part. The body of the pilot went limp in her fingers and the machine’s blades whirred nervously as they started to sink down through the thick clouds. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. OH YOU DUMB BITCH. 

Climbing over the seat and pushing the body aside, she eyed the buttons and levers, hands starting to pull a main lever to keep the aircraft away from the bitter cold earth. The machine protested and roared, barely agreeing with her handling until they nearly hit rock, a stone plateau appearing before her, along with unlikely faces in an even more unlikely setting. 

Hunt out cold on top, August on a ledge a few meters lower, the carcass of a fallen helicopter dangling dangerously by the help of one red hook above him. 

She should’ve flown away then. She was free now, right? But as the helicopter rocked beneath the taps of her fingertips, she got closer instead of further, the blades cutting the air that August breathed as he blinked up, his blue eyes unseeing as fire licked at his melting skin.

--

.FIRE - The do-over 

No fire here. He reached his fingertips out, expecting to find rock. But instead it was softness and warmth, the pain of the assault but a vague memory as he cracked open dry eyes. 

‘Wh..-’ His body slumped back into a pillow as it refused to move, his limbs heavy as lead. With mild frustration he watched as the world slowly unfolded around his sleep-hazed eyes; a room. A modern room, a wall of floor-to-ceiling glass offering a magnificent view over a winter white lake, which was so very different from the warm hearth burning at the opposite wall. 

A feather soft footfall walked by in what must be the hallway. Someone was there. 

Was he a prisoner? 

Grumbling to himself he found himself parched, his throat probably seared by the flames that had nearly consumed him. He couldn’t even ask for help, if he wanted to. 

‘Hey..’ A questioning voice peaked around the corner, fiery red hair and blue eyes making him feel like he was dreaming still. 

‘..you’re up early.’ She plopped down on the edge of the bed. ‘You’ve only been out for ..’ She checked her tactical watch. ‘..72 hours. Want some water?’ Without further ado she got up again, August’s hand shaking awkwardly at the simple task of holding the plastic water bottle she had offered. 

‘I was thinking about catching us something today. What do you prefer: roe or fish?’ 

August drank greedily, icy eyes watching as she bent over, stretching out before her aforementioned hunt. It was like the thirst that ached within him couldn’t be tempered, the bottle finished before she got up again, her eyebrow quirking up at his eagerness. 

‘Hmm.’ She smiled. ‘You’re one greedy devil, haha. You didn’t miss much by the way. It all ended with a fizzle.’ 

She shrugged and August blinked. 

‘Oh. And..you’re not dreaming. It’s me, remember?’ She stalked over to him and brushed some hair away from his burned face, bandages wrapped over what once had been angelic looking skin. 

That August was gone. 

August blinked again, his lips unwilling to move, his mind sticky with heavy fog. It felt like steam had risen in his bones too quickly. Like his tongue was made of boiled leather. 

‘Very well. Let’s do this again.’ She offered him her hand, his slow eyes looking down at the pale digits that hovered before him. ‘Nice to meet you. An--’ 

‘Angel.’ He finally croaked, the steam escaping from his mind as it all came back to him. Whirring rotor blades, screams, Anna dragging him over jagged rock. Pain. So much pain. And then coolness. Water. Sweet, soothing, nothingness. 

‘Naa..not any more.’ She chuckled, fetching him a new bottle of water. ‘Here. You’ll need it.’ 

--

.FIRE - I’ll dance in hell

'When I grow up I’m going to be a swan.’ Little August nodded decidedly as the doctor checked the newly set cast on the boy’s arm. 

‘Are you now?’ 

‘Yea. And I’m going to fly..and dance! And swim!’ 

‘Oh, don’t mind him. He’s a silly boy.. I doubt young boys can even BE swans, August-dear.’ His mom pulled him from the bench, making him stumble as he looked back over his shoulder at the doctor who had already turned back to his computer, his simple dream shattered before his feet reached the door. 

--

.FIRE - The swan lake 

August placed his fingers on the cold glass, the icy lake before him starting to defrost as spring was near. In the kitchen, eggs were sizzling and a soft tune rolled through muted speakers. Classical music. Worthy of the beasts that caught his eye now, their large white wings curling to stop the wind beneath them as they graciously sank into the first bit of melted water. 

Spring was here. And it was time for a new beginning, a new dance..and this time a duet perhaps. Who knows. 

--

“Then in the fire I learned, that all I craved, was water.” 

--

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[scribomaniac]

Something Wicca This Way Comes: Ch 13

I KILLIAN I

Pacing up and down the length of the hallway that led from the front door to the kitchen, Killian wondered how much longer Mary Margaret and Emma planned on staying in the basement. It’d already been hours since the older witch had gone down to comfort her daughter. Killian had considered venturing down himself, but in the end decided it wasn’t a good idea. He had no idea what would come out of his mouth if he tried speaking to Emma right now.

Liam, who was trying very hard to look casual, sitting in the middle of the couch with a textbook in his lap, asked, “What’re we gonna do if she says no,” he looked between Killian and Liam, who was looking out the window with a scowl. “To her destiny, I mean.”

“That’s not an option,” Liam said, leaving no room for argument. “It’s her destiny.”

“So what?” Will’s browed furrowed, “Are you saying all the talk about free will is bull then?”

“No,” Liam closed his eyes, making Killian wonder if he was trying not to roll them. “Of course there’s still free will but if Emma doesn’t do this, if she denies her birthright, then—”

“Then what?” Killian stopped his pacing to ask. “Really, what then? So the Source doesn’t die—there’s still us. There are still other witches protecting Innocents.”

Turning to look at his younger brother, Liam said, “It’s not as simple as that. Tink’s said how powerful the Source has become—how unequal the balance between good and evil is. The longer Emma takes to accept her destiny, the more lives will be lost.”

“And what about her life?” Killian’s past premonitions came to mind. One of Emma being stolen as a baby, her sleeping mother right beside her, and the other of her as a small child being tormented in the Underworld. “Doesn’t she get a chance to live it, too?”

Liam waved him away, “Putting her own life above others is just selfish. And why are you defending her?” He narrowed his eyes at Killian, “Or have you forgotten she tried to kill you?”

Swallowing dryly, Killian glared, “Of course I haven’t forgotten, but she’s not just the Firestarter anymore, is she? That makes things a bit more complicated.” A lot more complicated, if Killian were being honest, and in a lot of different ways.

“It wouldn’t be if Emma would just do what she was born to do!”

A light cough interrupted them, making Killian’s head snap over to find Mary Margaret standing in the entrance to the kitchen.

“I wanted to say thank you, before we left,” she told them. There was a smile on her face, but her eyes were as hard as iron and they were trained on the oldest Jones brother, as if daring him to try and stop them. “I’ll be taking my daughter home now.”

Wincing, Liam stepped forward and tried to salvage the situation, “Mary Margaret, I’m sorry, but you know what’s at stake here. You can’t just—”

“Oh, I can,” Mary Margaret nodded quickly. “I lost my daughter just hours after giving birth to her, Liam. I’ve been through more hell in that first few minutes of finding her missing than you have in your entire life so don’t you dare try to lecture me about what’s at stake.” Cutting herself off, Mary Margaret looked down and smoothed out her shirt. “I know this isn’t the outcome you wanted, but it’s not your choice and you need to respect that.” Taking a deep breath, she looked up and said, “Thank you again. For bringing my daughter back to me.”

It was silent for a moment too long where the Jones brothers looked at each other awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to Mary Margaret’s gratitude.

Will was the first to remember his manners, and said, “You’re welcome.” It came out a bit stilted, but Mary Margaret nodded all the same.

“We’ll leave once David gets back.”

The muscle in Liam’s jaw pulsed against his skin. It was obvious that he wanted to continue arguing with her, but thankfully he held his tongue. Mary Margaret was right, it wasn’t his choice, but Killian knew his brother better than anyone. He liked to be in control, to take charge and make decisions. Having no say in this must have been eating him alive.

“If you ever need anything,” Killian found himself saying, “we’re here for you.”

Again, Mary Margaret nodded. Killian wished he could say more, bother to her and to Emma. He couldn’t help feel like they were making a mistake. Not because it was Emma’s destiny or anything like that, but because running away never solved anything. Killian had learned that himself firsthand after leaving the Navy. He wished he could speak to Emma alone, to learn what she was thinking. Her whole life had just been turned upside down. Killian, having gone through several life altering situations himself, felt the compulsion to comfort her. It was only the knowledge that she wouldn’t want him to—wouldn’t want anything to do with him—that kept him from doing so. He understood that what they had was a lie, but he found himself wishing he could stay in her life, just for a little bit longer. As a friend or even just as a fellow witch. But that would never happen.

Emma appeared from the kitchen then, and Killian had to turn away.

“Where will you go?” Will asked.

Before either woman had a chance to respond, three distinct blinks sounded throughout the room.

“Warlocks!” Liam immediately shouted, diving for Will and taking cover behind the couch as several energy balls flew past.

Grabbing Mary Margaret and Emma by their arms, Killian yanked them down to hide behind the dining table. It would have provided at least a few minutes of protection from the Warlocks, until one pulled out a fireball and set it ablaze.

“Bloody hell,” Killian hissed. “Who’d they steal that power from?”

Liam popped up from behind the couch and blasted the Warlock closet to Killian into oblivion.

“Come on,” Killian grabbed for Emma again. She my be the Savior, but without proper training of her new powers she was practically a sitting duck. They ran for the kitchen, Mary Margaret using her powers to close doors and throw furniture at the new Warlock behind them.

Emma stared at her hands, clenching and unclenching her fingers. “Come on, dammit! Light up!”

“Focus, Emma,” Mary Margaret told her, her gaze on the blocked entry way. “Think about what you did last time, okay?”

“It’s not working,” she grounded out.”

Another blink, and then there was a Warlock right in front of her. Moving faster than he ever had before, Killian tackled Emma to the ground. He could hear the crackle of wood behind him, the heat from the newly burning fire.

Turning over, Killian watched as the Warlock threw an energy ball at Mary Margaret, causing her to jump out of the way. Summoning another sizzling ball of electricity in his hand, the Warlock grinned, showing his decaying yellow teeth, “The Source sends his regards, Firestarter.”

Bright white lights formed behind the Warlock, and before the creature could finish them off, Will appeared and shouted, “Athame!”

The ceremonial blade appeared in his hand in a ball of light, and Killian’s younger brother wasted no time by throwing it directly into the back of the Warlock’s head.

The effects were immediate, the Warlock’s body exploding like a star in supernova.

Standing up, Killian side and patted his brother on the back, “Good timing.”

“Sorry I wasn’t faster—the last Warlock gave us some trouble in the other room.” He looked at Emma, who was still on the floor, to Mary Margaret who’d moved to put out the fire on the wall. “You all okay?”

“Aye,” Killian nodded. “Swan?” He moved to help her up, but she brushed him off, standing on her own.

“What I don’t get,” Liam hollered from the other room, grunting as he pushed debris out of the way. Finally making enough room to open the door, he continued, “is how they got those powers. Tink said Warlocks stealing a demon’s powers was like treason.”

Emma scoffed, “Not if the Source is the one who gives them to you.”

“What?” Will asked with a frown. “Why would he do that? Oh shit,” he blinked, looking at his brothers, then back at Emma, “do you think he know you’re the Savior? But how?”

“He doesn’t know I’m the Savior—if he did he’d have come to kill me himself.” Pushing her hair back, she raised a brow at them all. “Do you really not know who we vanquished earlier? Baelfire?”

Killian exchanged glances with his brothers. They looked just as confused as he felt. “Never heard of him, Swan.”

“Yeah, well, he was the Source’s son. And since I was the one who killed him, he’ll have placed a bounty on my head.” Shoulders slumping, she turned towards her mother, “Sure you still want me around?”

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret whispered before walking to her daughter’s side. She didn’t hug her—though Killian had no doubt in his mind that she wanted to—but she did place a hand on Emma’s arm. “I’m with you. No matter what, okay?”

Lips quirking up into a small smile, one that dipped off just as suddenly as it came, Emma nodded, “Okay.”

“This is another reason you shouldn’t leave,” Liam said, hands on his hips. “We can train you, help you fight back.”

Closing his eyes, Killian held back a groan. Liam had a point, but now was really not the time.

Barring her teeth, Emma growled, “Stay out of it.”

“Kinda hard to do that when shit like this happens in my house.”

Nostrils flaring, Emma looked at the four people standing before her. It was like watching a deer in the headlights. Shaking off her mother’s arm, Emma pushed her way out of the room and towards the front door. “I need some air.”

Killian followed her out onto the porch, “Swan, wait.”

“What?” She turned on him, her brows furrowed, “Are you going to try and convince me to stay? That demons will just keep coming and coming until we’re all dead? Because I know that.” Bringing her hands up to massage her temples, Emma closed her eyes and frowned. “I was the Source’s bodyguard, for Pete’s sake. I know what he’s capable of, and now with Bae gone—” she shook her head, “The only way to survive is to run.”

Killian nodded slowly, “You might survive that way, aye, but Emma,” he took a small, cautious step towards her, “you deserve more than that. You deserve to live.”

Cocking a brow, Emma asked dryly, “There’s a difference?”

Killian thought back to when he and Liam were boys, how they’d had to fend for themselves and only relying on each other. They’d fought for every scrap of food they were given and always looked over their shoulders for a possible attack. Even when they’d enlisted into the Navy, when they were assured of brotherhood and security, Killian had never let his guard down, sleeping with one eye open. He’d been right to do so, in the end, but that didn’t mean it was a healthy or sustainable way to live.

Answering with conviction, Killian said, “Yes.”

Emma’s bros rose, but Killian could still see the suspicion lingering behind her eyes. Curling his lips into a coy smile, he tried to elaborate, “Living means joy, Swan. Pleasure. It’s like enjoying a kiss after an incredible date.”

Eyes flickering down to her lips, Killian couldn’t help but remember the last kiss they had shared. Looking back up into Emma’s eyes, he wondered if she ever thought of that moment as well. He thought of the words, to ask her outright, but they wouldn’t manifest on his tongue. Flirting? Easy, no problem for young Killian Jones. But honesty? That was a bit harder at the moment.

“Just imagine,” he said instead, his mouth turning dry, “all that time we’d spent together, with no ulterior motives. Just you and me, Swan, living our lives.” He was entering dangerous territory now, pushing for the truth in the only way he knew how.

Emma’s eyes feel just a fraction, and Killian’s heartbeat quickened as he realized they were focused on his mouth.

“Please,” she whispered, finally returning her gaze to his. Just as cautiously as he had moments ago, she took a step closer, “You couldn’t handle it.”

Killian tried his best to control his breathing, which had turned shallow and too loud in his ears. He was truly playing with fire now, and he didn’t much care of getting burned. “Maybe you’re the one that couldn’t handle it.”

And then Emma kissed him.

Hands immediately falling to her waist, Killian pulled Emma closer. Her mouth was rough and hard on his, but then she exhaled, and Killian could feel her tension bleeding away. She pulled back, just slightly, and Killian chased after. Her fingers brushed alongside his jaw and into his hair, sending electric shocks from the base of his spine down to the tips of his toes. Emma’s tongue snaked out, licking at his lower lip so sweetly. Killian choked on a moan, easily opening his mouth to giver her more access.

And then Emma was pulling off, breaking the kiss just as abruptly as she had started it. Eyes still closed, she took a shaky breath and told him, “That was a one time thing.”

And the next thing Killian knew he was alone on the porch.

 I EMMA I

Emma had no idea why she’d done that. It was stupid and rash and not like her at all. And yet, as she walked through the house, she couldn’t help but relish in the tingling feeling in her lips. A part of her wished she could spend all day kissing that man. She wanted to, she wanted to get to know him too. Really know him. And not to gain information for someone else, not because she’d been ordered to, but because she wanted to. Living and surviving, is that what he’d meant?

But all her wishing would amount to nothing if Killian didn’t feel the same way about her. How could he, after everything she’d done? He’d kissed her, yes, but that meant nothing. Emma knew better than anyone that lust and love were not the same.

Pacing in the solarium, Emma tried to get her head on straight. She couldn’t focus on the kiss right now. Or how her lips still tingle or how her heart fluttered when she thought of how Killian had held her only moments ago. No, she needed to make a decision. She had two options; run for the rest of her life or stay and fight.

Running was the smart move, and if it were only her in danger she wouldn’t be giving it a second thought. But she had Mary Margaret now, and David. Hell, she even had a brother to think about. She had a family. It was new and scary, but it was hers. Mary Margaret said they’d run, and Emma didn’t doubt her, but was that really fair? Emma sighed, wondering if running would only delay the inevitable. The Source was immortal, he’d never stop hunting her down. He’d wait until she was old and gray and then make her wish she’d never been born.

And what a horrible life that would be, she thought. She’d spent her whole life in the Underworld, believing her parents had sold her to demons, thinking she was unloved and would always be unloved. She’d fought because she’d been made to, relied on fear and hate to be her forever companions, but now, now she had something to fight for. A mother, a father, a brother. Killian. The Source had taken so much from her, was she really going to let him take this—all this—away from her?

Hell no.

[robbiekaysfavoritelostgirl]

The Hybrid

Pairing: Jacob Black x hybridCullen 

               Edward Cullen x hybridCullen 

               Edward Cullen x Bella Swan

Plot: You are the last witch of your kind, you were turned after you vampire father decided to get back at your mother. In a effort to throurt him your grandmother transferred the magic of the entire coven over to you, so that when you woke a vampire you would have access to your magic but had the speed, heightened senses and immortality . After a century you meet Carlisle and agree to join his family. Everyone thought that you and Edward were going to end up married until he met Bella. You were left heartbroken until you meet a certain wolf. 

Fandom: Twilight

A/n: So this is what inspired my story “The Hybrid” so I had to do it. Also the pairing only refers to the certain part. The pairings crossed out are the ones that will come in another part. This is only part one. 

        “Does this town ever change?” I moaned, my head falling against the cool window as I continued to stare blankly at the never ending sea of green that lay outside. 

   “Of course it does, there wasn’t a high school last time we were here.” Edward laughed, reaching over for my hand, lifting it so he could press a kiss against my knuckles. I sighed, rolling my eyes softly as I leaned over to press my lip against his own.  

    “Hey now! Don’t distract him, I don’t want to die because you two feel like having a makeout session while driving.” Emmett laughed, grinning widely at me as I turned to face him. 

   “Aww don’t worry Em, if were to crash I would make sure to save Rose and Edward.” 

   “Oh well that’s wonderful and all but what about me?” Emmett demanded. 

  “Oh sweet Emmett I am only but a witch, I can not save you all.”I giggled, ducking as he aimed a playful punch my way. The moment he did Edward let out a snarl, despite knowing fully well that Emmett would never actually apply enough force to harm me. He was full aware that as part human, I was much more vulnerable than the rest of our siblings. 

   “Easy Edward, I’m not going to harm her. Do you really think I want to spend the next century listening to you, Esme, Carlisle, Alice and Nik yelling at me?” Emmett sighed. “Not that I would the chance. If she gets out of this car in less than perfect condition her twin will eat me for dinner.”

    “I can defend myself you know.” I laughed, smiling wickedly as I snapped my fingers, causing a flame to appear in my hand. I turned it over, watching as the flame wrapped itself harmlessly over my skin. 

   “Will you stop that!” All three of them hissed, Edward reaching over to pull my hand, which I had unconsciously lifted up towards the window, back down. At once I let the flame die out and glanced at the three others in the car. 

   “Sorry, I forgot people may actually be able to see us.” I muttered, biting my lip as I glanced shyly at them. Rose was the first to sigh, shaking her head softly and giving me a small warm smile in return. 

    “It’s not that, no one is around us to see and if anyone did you could easily deal with that.” Rose said quickly, leaning forward so she was between Edward and I. “It’s us. Seeing you in flames, even ones that we know you can control, scare us.” 

   “I keep forgetting that. I have never seen a vampire be destroyed, so it’s so easy for me to forget. My coven never knew how to destroy us.” I sighed, kicking myself mentally forgetting that fire was a sure fire way to keep us dead. 

   “We know and we will work very hard to insure that it’s something you never have to witness.” Edward vowed, reaching over to squeeze my hand gently. 

  “Just do us all a favor and forget that spell exists.” Emmett sighed. “If it wasn’t already stopped, you would have given me a heart attack.” 

   “Right, fire spell is no longer a thing.” I promised, earning a relieved smile from all three of my vampires. 

 ~~~ 

     “You know, I have to admit. I miss this view.” I sighed, curling myself into Edward’s side. He chuckled, running his finger tips over my exposed flesh, the feeling causing me to shiver with delight. There really was nothing better than his touch. 

    “Hmm it’s a nice view. I mean nothing compared to the one I currently have, but nice enough.” He answered, smiling at me as I lifted my head from his shoulder. He was staring at me, laying naked against his side, my knee positioned over his hips, his free hand making a trail from my hip to my knee. 

   “Maybe I have the better view.” I mumbled, moving forward just enough so I that I was able to press a kiss to his lips. As he pushed me onto my back, his body sliding so he was hovering over me, I couldn’t picture how this would ever stop. How Edward and I would ever not be like this. Surely we felt like this, because we were meant for one another. 

   “I think.” I muttered sometime later. “That the reason we were both turned is so we could be together. I think this was always how it was supposed to be.” 

    “I couldn’t agree more. This, all of it, was so we could spend forever in each others arms.”

~~~~ Two Years Later~~~~

    “I’m not Edward’s mate?” I whispered, my voice barely loud enough for me hear, yet Alice was able to hear it perfectly. 

   “I am so sorry Y/n, we all truly thought that you were. I mean we have never seen anything like you and Edward, the love you have for one another.” 

   “Had.” I sighed, my voice breaking as I struggled to hold back the tears. “The love we had together. I’m nothing to him now.”

   “You know that’s not true.” Rose cried, moving so she could pull me against her. “Look at how hard he fought it, fought against the pull she has on him. He wouldn’t have done that if you meant nothing to him.”

   “It doesn’t matter now. It can’t.” I mumbled, shaking my head as I brushed the unshed tears from under my eyes. “I need to talk to Esme and Carlisle. I can’t stay here. I’ll go stay with Tanya and her family. I just, I can’t...” I shook my head, jumping up from my spot beside Rose and darting from the room. I could hear Edward down below, arguing with Jasper and Emmett, demanding that he at least gets to talk to me. I ignored it, pushing aside the part of me that wanted to run to him, to make the pain in his voice vanish and instead turned to Esme’s room. She was waiting for me, Carlisle standing silently beside her. 

   “I’m sorry.” I whispered, letting out a sob as I fell into her outstretched arms. “It’s to painful. Watching him with her.”

   “Don’t worry honey, we understand. Come home when you can.” Esme whispered, pulling me back to kiss my cheek. “And call us, you won’t have to talk to Edward but please promise you will talk to the rest of us.”

   “Of course I will mom.” I promised, leaning into kiss her cheek before stepping towards Carlisle and hugging him tightly. “I promise to call both of you every night.”

  “Good. I’ll call Tanya and tell her you and Nik are coming to stay.” Carlisle sighed. “Take care of each other. You two are the ones I worry for the most.” 

   “We will dad, we always do. I love you.” 

   “Not nearly as much as we love you.” Esme sighed, brushing a stand of my hair behind my ear. “Rose and Alice are waiting for their goodbyes and I imagine the boys will be up for theirs as well. We won’t keep you.” She kissed my forehead one last time before brushing past me, not wanting me to see just how badly my leaving hurt. Carlisle smiled softly and gave me one last kiss on the cheek before following her. I knew they were going to take Emmett and Jasper’s place so they could say goodbye. 

   “You had better call me every single day too.” Rose demanded as she pulled me into a hug. She didn’t me go until I promised and then she gave me a swift kiss on both cheeks before going to assist Esme and Carlisle with a now furious Edward. 

   “Try to forgive him, he can’t help any of this.” Alice sighed as she pulled me in for a hug. “If he had any say in this it would be you.” 

   “I’ll try.” I muttered, trying my best to mean it, after all she was right. This wasn’t something he could control. 

   “I could make it easier you know, you don’t have to go.” Jasper sighed, a small hopeful smile on his face. 

   “I do. The only way I could stay is if you were by my side every minute of the day. Eventually Alice would grow to hate me.” 

   “If meant you staying than I would live with it.” She vowed and while I knew she meant it I still couldn’t bring myself to leave. 

   “How will I know I have truly moved on if you are always there making me feel like I have? It’s for the best Jasper, I promise I will see you again though.” I hugged him tightly then, not wanting to ever let go. 

  “You had better.” He whispered, kissing my temple as I pulled away. 

  “If you decide to come back let me know, I’ll send him away myself.” Emmett whispered as I hugged him, his grip on me tightening as I let out a small sob. Leaving Emmett and Rose would be the hardest, well second hardest. The three of us have a bond like no other and the idea of leaving them both killed me, though not nearly as much as staying. 

   “Come on. Edward is getting to the point he may just throw Rose through a wall. It’s best we get going.” Niklaus sighed, smiling softly at me as he came out of the room that had once been mine and Edward’s. He had a suitcase in each hand, a pink one containing my things and a black one that held all of his. 

   “You don’t have to come with Nik. I know how much you love it here.” 

  “I promised mom, dad and nana that I would never leave your side. I am not about to risk getting murdered by pissed off spirits because you didn’t want me to leave Forks. Besides it won’t be the same without you here.” I nodded, knowing that it was useless at this point. 

   “Y/n wait! Please!” Edward cried, his voice so full of pain that it tore me apart. I let out a small cry and turned to the nearest window, jumping out onto the roof before stepping off onto the driveway. Someone, most likely Alice, had the car started already. I had just slipped into the passenger seat when Nik landed by the hood, quickly throwing the bags in the trunk before getting in the drivers seat beside me. 

   “To Denali.” He said with a grin, turning the radio on full blast in a desperate attempt to drown out Edward’s cry of my name.

     “It’s funny how one human can cause all this pain.” I sighed, letting my head fall against the glass. 

[shardminds]

it’s yours, it’s mine (CSJJ DAY 11)

pairing: emma swan/killian jones rating: g but maybe t wc: 3276

Sometimes, Emma loves Killian Jones— well, all of the time, really. ‘Til death do us part and all that. Sometimes, however, in situations like these, as Whale pulls the thick glass shard from her palm, she really wishes he’d shut up.

He won’t. He never does.

if i’ve done my job correctly, this little number will warm up your january morning with a little bit of fluff and banter between our favourite star crossed couple! shout out to the @csjanuaryjoy​ team and discord server for all being such diamonds and a big back-breaking hug to my girl @thisonesatellite​ who's tenacity, support and mad beta skills encouraged me to polish this off, even when i was mostly dead (but still slightly alive).

tagging @itsfabianadocarmo​, @teamhook​, @kmomof4​, @superchocovian​, @darkcolinodonorgasm​, @artistic-writer​ (if you wanna be added to the list just shout up!) 

available on ao3 ♠

it’s yours, it’s mine

“Breathe through it, love. It’s just a routine extraction.”

Sometimes, Emma loves Killian Jones— well, all of the time, really. ‘Til death do us part and all that. Sometimes, however, in situations like these, as Whale pulls the thick glass shard from her palm, she really wishes he’d shut up.

He won’t. He never does.

Modern medicine fascinates him, in practicality and in fiction. It’s her fault really, showing him early on the wonders of Netflix. Storybrooke really isn’t as action-packed as it once was, leaving her plenty of time to hook (ha!) her husband on hospital dramas. They’re currently six seasons into a Scrubs marathon but his favourite is, by far, House. That Cameron lass looks an awful lot like you, love He says, every time she questions him on it. It’s gonna blow his tiny mind when he finds the sexy doctor outfit she has tucked away in her underwear drawer, complete with stethoscope and clipboard.

A slick squelch and nauseating drag as Whale slides the glass from where it embedded itself in her hand snaps her from her thoughts, drawing out a hiss she can’t bite back. It’ll leave a nasty scar, that much she knows.

“Fuck!”

“You did a real number on yourself, Emma, but the worst part is over.” Pressing an antiseptic gauze pad over the wound, Whale offers her a wink. Despite the land being free of curses and peace all around blah blah blah, he still manages to catch her last nerve with his cocky demeanour, pressing down on the now stained gauze with some force. It stings like a bitch.

“I’m pretty sure the worst is yet to come, Doctor.” Killian chimes in, leaning over to see the tools laid out on the sterile tray resting on Emma’s bedside table. She had protested the bed, claiming she could take the stitches standing or sitting or anything but laying down. The nurse looked as if she was ready to wrestle her down if she refused. The bed had been the lesser of two evils. “What type of stitch will you be using?”

“Killian—” She starts but isn’t able to argue with the fascination in his eyes. He’d seen hospitals before, of course, been on the receiving end of their services on more than one occasion, but he never held the same kind of enthusiasm then as he does now, watching as Whale inspects the gash on her hand.

“Actually, Captain Jones, your wife is lucky. I think it’s just shallow enough that a few steristrips should do the trick.”

“Thank God.” Emma mutters under her breath, not missing how Killian gives her non-injured hand a reassuring squeeze.

Whale applies the strips with practised ease, allowing each one to gently seal the edges of the wound closed. There’s a tension where the adhesive tugs at her skin on either side of the gash, uncomfortable but not unbearable. She’s dealt with worse.

It takes eight strips in total, each one taking less than a minute to apply. Whale talks through it, trying to distract from each uncomfortable twinge but it’s all background noise. Emma lets herself zone out, focusing only on the slow drag of Killian’s thumb across her knuckles.

Emma rolls her eyes at Whale and his insistence that she take it easy. “Take a few days off, Sheriff. Doctors orders.”

“Oh please,” She scoffs, flexing her palm and feeling the discomfort as she does so. Not that Whale needs to see that. Killian smirks, pressing a kiss to her cheek as the doctor calls him over. “I could use magic to heal this in a heartbeat if I wanted to.”

“Is that so?” He hands over a bottle of painkillers to Killian, nothing fancy, and a few extra dressings for the wound. Killian tucks them in his pocket, taking a look at the chart at the end of her bed. He’d look good in a lab coat, hair pushed back, glasses, using his authoritative voice to order two week’s bed rest… wow, now she’s the one with a fantasy.

“Then why don’t you?” Whale teases, one eyebrow raised. His hair is lighter than it had been when they’d first met. Someone had clearly discovered peroxide in the land without magic. It’s stupid. He’s stupid. The childish retort sticks in her throat.

“Someone’s got to check everything’s up to standard here, mate.” With a wink, Killian pats the doctor on the shoulder, the brace of his hook catching his shoulder blade with a dull thud. Whale winces away from it. He drops the subject of Emma’s magic and returns, grumbling, to disposing of the bloodstained gauze into the fluorescent biohazard waste bin.

Their whole trip to Storybrooke General had taken less than half an hour but, as Killian drives them home—a recent development, having only just gained his permit after years of pestering from David—exhaustion rolls over her in waves, encouraging her eyelids to flutter shut. She reaches her hand for his thigh, resting it there just to feel warmth beneath her palms. The heat in the damn car still doesn’t work, despite David’s attempts to fix it throughout fall. By October, he’d given up. She really needs to find a better mechanic.

“You okay, love?”

“Yeah, just cold.”

“We’ll be home soon.” He reassures, taking his good hand from the wheel to stroke hers atop his thigh, softly caressing her wedding band. “I’ll sweep up all the glass and you can curl up on the couch. We can watch Pride and Prejudice again if you’d like?”

In their time living together, without the pressure of being the saviour or magical prophecies or bad guys, he’d come to know her so well. Truthfully, she hadn’t expected him to adapt as easily as he did—she’d half expected him to miss the adventure and danger—but Killian had taken to domesticity like a duck to water, revelling in life’s simple things like electric blankets, text messaging and two for one offers on Ben and Jerry’s. She couldn’t be more thankful for her husband. She tried to show him whenever she could. With words, kisses and more.

“1995 or 2005?”

“Do you take me for a fool?” The smirk across his lips is the one she fell in love with. She would recognise it anywhere. “2005, of course.”

“Right answer.” She hums, content, letting her eyes slip shut for the rest of the ride.

//

The painful throbbing spikes in her palm, radiating through her wrist and falling short just shy of her elbow. It’s almost agony and the grunt it drags from her has Killian peering over her in seconds, a concerned furrow in his brow. Falling asleep in his lap, arguably, had seemed like a good idea at the time, with her brief nap on the ride home doing nothing to sate her tired yes. Now? Not so much. There’s a crick in her neck and a throb in her spine and her toes are cold from where the blanket hadn’t quite covered them.

“Painkillers wearing off, love?” He strokes the stray hairs from her forehead with the point of his hook, careful not to drag the tip against her skin. Anyone else would’ve questioned using his hook in such a manner, but she’d become accustomed to the addition in all aspects of their life—even the intimate ones—and, above all else, she trusts him. Killian’s been wielding the appendage for longer than she’s been alive, after all. It’s a part of him as much as she is.

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t take any, did you.”

She shrugs.

He sighs, exasperated. “Emma—”

“I know, I know.” She leans up to kiss the frown from his lips, ignoring the protest from her aching back. This must be what ageing feels like. “I figured I’ll survive without them.”

“You’ll survive, aye, but you’ll be a misery arse the entire time.” He’s right, of course, Emma can already feel the irritability creeping in with each pulse of her hand. Why does he always have to be right? He smirks, meeting her with another soft kiss. “You’re pouting, love.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And you’re stuck with me.” He reaches over to the coffee table, bringing back the abandoned bottle of painkillers and a half-full glass of water precariously balanced in one hand. “‘In sickness and in health.”

Emma’s heart stutters, fluttering in her chest as Killian offers them to her.

Years ago, they’d promised no walls, no secrets. Then they’d promised forever.

Her walls are all but rubble now, he’d torn down each one with ease; each adventure, each endeavour, each loss and return, solidifying his place in her heart.

Their wedding day, despite the circumstances surrounding it, still stands true as one of—if not the—best day of her life. They’re working slowly on forever.

Well, maybe not as slowly as Emma had originally thought.

She’d done pretty well on the whole ‘No Secrets’ thing, for the most part, only vetoing the rule come birthdays and Christmas and the occasional anniversary, just to keep things exciting. Over their years together, the need for secrets dissipated the closer they got.

Until last week, sat on the floor of her mother’s bathroom with the fate of their future clutched in her fist.

The five-minute wait had been agonising. Mary Margaret paced, talking a mile a minute about nothing in particular as Emma clutched her knees tight to her chest, memories of the first time she’d done this flooding back. Back then she’d been trapped, alone and afraid.

Two thin blue lines.

She took three more tests, just to be sure.

Identical results.

The tears that came this time around weren’t ones of fear or trepidation, but happiness. A second chance.

Emma hadn’t been ready for a child the first time—pregnant too young in a situation too fucked up—but now, surrounded by love and trust and support, maybe she is.

Dark hair, blue eyes—or maybe green eyes, her cheeks, his smile—

“Swan? Anyone in there?” As quickly as it formed, the vision is gone, replaced with her husband’s soft smile. God, she hopes she has his smile. She? He? They? Does it matter? Emma shakes the thought away, pushing herself up on her good hand and tucking her legs beneath her. Her back doesn’t scream in protest which is a good sign.

“I was just thinking.” She shrugs, letting herself lean against his arm.

He rests his head atop hers, pressing a quick kiss to her crown. “That’s dangerous.”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry, go on.” He chuckles, warm and deep, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and letting his fingers caress the exposed skin between the strap of her vest and the edge of the blanket. At some point, he’d put the pill bottle and water back on the table, most likely when she was thinking of—

“There’s a reason why I haven’t used magic to heal my hand and why I haven't taken anything for the pain.”

He nods, the movement of it ruffling her hair slightly. “I figured as much.”

"It's just that it's a lot to take in and I wanted to think of some big extravagant way to tell you because I know you'd have done the same for me, so I planned out a nice evening; home-cooked italian food, a couple pints of ice cream and your favourite rum, which is why I was elbow deep in the glass cupboard trying to find the tumbler Henry had engraved for you before he left, you know, the 'world's best dad' one. I found it but I slipped and— yeah, you know the rest."

Silence rests between them for three heartbeats as she allows it to sink in, half confession, half explosion. She doesn't want to be the one to break it.

"Can I ask," He starts, voice husky and quiet. Emma turns to face him, taking in his features as he calculates what it is she's saying. "Why you'd need that particular glass, love?"

She smiles, letting the warmth of it radiate through her, pain in her palm almost forgotten. "Isn't it obvious?"

His eyes, hopeful and oh so blue, sparkle in the low light. Every time she looks, she finds so much love there, enough to fill them both so completely and she hopes so much that he sees the same in hers. Starting a family is something they’d talked of in passing; hushed conversations, wrapped in the warmth of each other, neither one wanting to surface back to reality as they discuss the fantasies of the future, both frivolous and not. It’s not something they’d actively pursued, but sometimes these things happen.

Accidents happen.

Maybe even happy ones.

"I'm pregnant."

It takes a few seconds for him to respond, the only indication that he hasn’t completely frozen is in the widening of his eyes and the lingering patterns his fingers draw on her shoulder — they slow, pressure barely there at all, but never stop.

“Are you certain? I thought— your protective pill?”

“I know, I was surprised too. I’m sure though.”

Emma hadn’t even noticed her hand sinking down to her stomach, resting over the place she would soon swell, until Killian placed his own hand atop hers. There are tears in his eyes, darkening his lashes as he tries to blink them away, and they’re soon mirrored in her own. God, she loves him. This man, who’d come into her life on the back of a hurricane, broken and hell-bent on revenge, had become part of her world and more, tearing down his own walls along with hers until they were nothing more than two bare souls, open and honest and joined by a love they’d both thought impossible. Who would’ve seen it coming?

(Mary Margaret says she knew right from the beanstalk. Emma always refutes it but, then again, her mother does have some kind of sixth sense when it comes to true love.)

“We’re having a baby?” His voice catches on the word, so impossibly full of love that her heart almost bursts. He’s not looking at her, only focused on where their hands are joined. She can see the thoughts running through his head, clear as day. Baby. Babybabybaby.

“We’re having a baby, Killian.”

“We’re having a baby.”

“Yeah.”

The smile that breaks out across his face seconds before he lunges for a kiss is one of pure elation, relief and joy and delight all at once, and it meets her lips in a ferocious kiss, not the gentle press she’d been expecting. Before rational thought can stop her, she’s straddling his thighs, injured hand resting on his shoulder as his hook caresses the length of her spine. Every time she breaks for air, takes a second just to register the response she’s getting, he looks at her with such adoration. Praises on his lips, promise in his eyes.

She hadn’t expected it to go this way but, then again, she hadn’t expected to spend almost an hour in the hospital awaiting a glass extraction after her original plan had gone awry.

Killian’s tongue in her mouth more than makes up for it.

“Wait,” He pauses, laughing as Emma chases his lips for another kiss. Instead, he offers her his cheek. She pouts, sitting back and wincing at the throb in her hand as she grips his shoulder with her injured one. Gently, he removes it from his shoulder, turning it over to look upon the bandage. The telltale inkblot of red casts a shadow on the dressing, she’d probably tugged it at some point, causing one of Whale’s magic strips to tear. Killian presses a kiss to her palm. “I’ve watched enough of your hospital dramas to understand the reluctance to take your prescription while in such a delicate state but why not indulge in magic?”

In the past few days, between finding out and confessing, Emma spent a lot of time worrying about the magical side of things. Despite Mary Margaret’s comforting and reassurance that everything would be okay, magic or no magic, the weight of her gift sat like lead in her stomach. If Zelena hadn’t skipped town for the Enchanted Forest with Robin all those months ago, Emma would’ve bombarded her with questions. Her next option, Regina, was either too busy to answer the phone or ignoring her calls, burying herself in work after Henry’s departure. Emma never felt like leaving a message. Pregnancy announcements are probably best not left as a voicemail.

She’d tried the library without much luck, only managing to find a few dog-eared copies of What To Expect When You’re Expecting and one horrifically detailed article on birthing techniques from Agrabah. She didn’t want to let slip to Belle either, not before Killian knew.

Emma had shouldered the weight of her doubts, abstaining from magic altogether. It’s honestly surprising that Killian hadn’t noticed sooner.

“I know how it sounds but I just— I don’t know how, or even if, it’ll affect the baby.” The admission comes with a wave of guilt, simmering just slightly below the surface. The first time she’d done this, there had been no one to tell, no one to turn to for comfort, nothing but the four walls and cot in her cell. Killian’s hand and hook, caressing her injured palm, pull her back from the edge of that thought. She’s not that girl anymore. She is no longer lost.

He is her true north.

“No one can blame you for being cautious, love,” He smiles and it makes every part of her ache to kiss him again. She doesn’t, instead, letting her free hand tuck his hair behind his ears. She wonders, with a soft smile, if the way he leans into her touch is intentional or instinctive. “But Henry turned out fine. Better than fine, in fact. Henry’s fantastic. Though your magic was dormant then, it was still there. Just like it’s there now, protecting our little one.”

“Do you really think so?”

Nothing settles her as much as Killian’s knowing smile does. He nods, certain.

“Aye, love.”

Any qualms she’d had about this earlier drain out of her in a sigh; each niggle of doubt, tug of anxiety, flash of fear. All gone. Here, with her husband by her side, she is safe. Whatever happens, they’re in this together. Whatever life throws their way; villains, monsters, tragedy, pregnancy— they’ve got this.

She’d promised him forever, after all.

Between them, her palm glows bright white.

//

Alice Margaret Jones comes, kicking and screaming—all 7lbs 6oz of her—into their lives and she is magical. Killian cries, of course, and Henry comforts him through it, both of them completely enamoured by the newest addition to their family. She’s pink cheeks and blue eyes and a shock of blonde hair but it’s far too soon to see which parent she’ll favour. Emma doesn’t care, too choked up with the love she holds for the angel latched to her breast.

She doesn’t have words for this emotion and can’t begin to even comprehend the gravity of it. Alice, for nine whole months, was her companion, her guide, her conscience. Reassuring her with soft kicks, heartbeat thrumming like a butterfly’s, always hiding from the ultrasound wand on their appointments. Now, she belongs to the world. Now, everyone else gets to experience the purest soul Emma has ever known.

Alice’s tiny hand clutching Killian’s finger in a vice grip is the last thing Emma sees before sleep finally claims her, truly content.

//

There is no scar on the palm of her hand but Killian kept the shard of glass, a reminder wrapped carefully in the velvet box in which he stores all his treasures.

[teamhook]

The Orphanage ~~ CS AU

I wanna thank @ultraluckycatnd for letting me talk things over, unleash my crazy and helping me when I got stuck. She also checked it over. @gingerchangeling for Betaing and being patient with me. She’s the sweetest!

Never enough eyes to look over a fic, specially if it’s mine.

FFN

AO3

A/N: Not all beginnings are happy, but sometimes the journey makes the end worthwhile.

The Orphanage

Convent of the Sisters of Saint Meissa

The orphanage's dull, colorless walls framed with religious artifacts and idols left little to hope for. The old orphanage was stuck in time without the luxuries of the modern world which currently served as a residential group home for the small towns and surrounding area. The children ranged in age from toddlers to teenagers. This was the place you came when no one wanted you. Emma Swan was one such lost girl.

The young blonde girl had moved from family to family. Once upon a time she had been adopted and had a home. Her happiness didn't last, though. She was soon returned when the family had been blessed with a biological child of their own.

Emma would sneak to the garden to gaze at the buttercups; the colors in sharp contrast to the inside of the archaic building. The garden that night was filled with the aroma of the sweet flowers. The stars and the moon lightly illuminated the colorful blossoms. That is where she first saw him.

The translucent outline of a young child.

She could make out his brown hair, pale skin, and hazel eyes. Her curiosity pulled her to the boy. The closer she got, the colder her surroundings became. She could see her breath as she called out to him. "Hey, who are you?" she asked curiously.

The boy only smiled. "Hello, my name is Henry. Can I be your friend?"

Emma couldn't stop her smile. She didn't have any friends at all; the other kids bullied her by calling her names or taking her things. She had told Mother Superior on them, but that only made things worse.

Nothing else mattered. She had her friend Henry and that was all she needed. He gave her hope. They played together; their favorite game was hide and seek.

The other kids would look at her oddly. The name-calling hadn't been creative, mostly calling her crazy or making fun of her imaginary friend. It should scare her that no one else could see her friend but instead, she felt special. He would only appear to her. Mother Superior would tell the kids that there was nothing wrong with having an imaginary friend.

Henry would encourage her to dream. He would tell her to believe in herself as he did. Following her best friend's advice, she recorded a short song on an old audio tape recorder she found but was interrupted by an older girl in the group. "Poor little Emma, do you really think you are good enough?" the mean girl asked with crossed arms as she glanced at the paper advertisement for a singing competition. "Don't you know Emma? No one wants to hear an orphan sing and you will be alone forever like the rest of us. You are not special." The mean girl walked out of the room.

Emma stared at the ad and crumpled it. "Emma, don't listen to her. She is just jealous because she knows how special you are." Henry smiled as he stood in front of her.

Throughout the rejection, she maintained hope because of her old friend. She never felt alone. Henry had become her constant, her rock.

Sadly there were days when she couldn't shake the feeling of not belonging.

On a fine day, a day that should be a happy day, eleven-year-old Emma and the other younger kids watch as a little girl left in a car for her new home with her adoptive parents. Mother Superior stands next to Emma, as the young girl stared with longing after the family now fading away into the horizon. "Emma, you will have a family someday too."

Once Emma is back in her room she cannot help but mourn for the dream that is slowly dying as she grows older.

The cold gust of air announces her oldest friend's arrival. "Henry, I wanna be alone."

The boy's image solidifies as he smiles at her. "Emma, someday you will have the home you deserve. Once I had a family too, but it wasn't full of love. My mother gave me up to give me my best chance. She was young and fell in love with someone that only wanted to take advantage of her. She left me in a basket outside the door of this very orphanage. I was adopted as a baby but my mother never loved me," Henry sadly confessed. "That is why I'm here. She liked to push me to conquer my fears and one time she pushed too far." He shrugged.

"Oh, Henry." Emma wanted to hug her friend. "How do you know all of this?"

"I don't know how but I just know. I believe that is why I'm here." His form started fading, "I'll leave you alone now. Just remember that you will find the home you deserve. I'll help you find it." He was gone. She knew in her heart that he was right but the pain lingered a while longer.

~~~At Age Thirteen

She had tried to fill the void. She had been placed at several foster homes as she was getting older but nothing stuck. Sometimes she would run away. Or towards something. She still didn't know which one it was.

On one of those occasions, Emma finds herself living on the streets. She is ripping out pages from a fairytale book she had found in the trash. She starts burning the pages to keep warm. As she reaches the page from The Ugly Duckling story, an old friend makes an appearance, although he's clearer than normal. Henry smiles fondly at her. "Emma, stop. Don't do it. You are a lot like that duckling. I think that is why your name is so fitting. This story is about transformation." He smiles. "Do you know what that duckling turns into? A beautiful Swan."

Emma returns the smile and whispers, "I think the duckling was always a swan and didn't know it."

"You might be right but I think she turned into a swan because of the power of belief, and if someone believes in something hard enough, they can change their fate. Emma, if you don't want to be with those families, Mother Superior will always have a place for you at the convent."

~~~At Age Sixteen

Emma becomes a beautiful young lady but somehow that doesn't make life easier for her. Some of the homes interested in her have less than genuine concern for her well being. All they care about is the money they get paid for keeping her. Once she becomes more trouble than she is worth is sent back to the orphanage. She keeps to herself to stay away from trouble but inevitably it finds her. Whether it be harassment from the other kids or unwanted attention from the husbands and the wives turning a blind eye to the unwanted touches, Henry is always with her protecting her. He saves her, always interrupting at the perfect moment with a loud door slam, breaking things; whatever it takes to stop the advances.

Emma decides that it's time to make her own luck. She hops on a bus to Arizona. In Phoenix, she enters a store, her stomach growling. She goes to steal a box of Poptarts, which are her favorite. She notices a girl watching her, but the latter quickly walks away. Emma goes back to the task at hand, food. She conceals the box of pastries in her jacket. Emma slowly begins her escape when a store employee stops her and is about to call Security. The other girl comes to the rescue approaching Emma with a shopping cart smiling. "Thanks for waiting while I went to go get the card to pay for the food. Did you find them?" The employee doesn't seem to believe them. "Come on, let's go pay." The girl encourages Emma to follow her and discreetly put the Poptarts in the cart. The employee follows them to the checkout where the girl pays with a credit card. Emma was relieved that her cover wasn't blown.

Once outside, Emma tells the girl "Thanks for helping me."

"No problem, my name is Lily. What's yours?"

"Emma."

They become friends. Emma assumes Lily is like her, an unwanted orphan. They both notice a man following them, and Emma believes he is a social worker trying to return Lily to her group home. They manage to lose the man. They find a vacant home that they decide to squat in for the night.

Inside the house while they're playing home, Emma notices a star imprint on Lily's wrist. Lily tells her it makes her special so she draws a matching one on Emma's wrist. The two girls smile at each other. While exploring the house, they find a video camera and record themselves pledging friendship forever.

Later that night, somehow the man that was following them tracked them down. Annoyed, Emma confronts the man as he exits his car. "We are not going back!"

The man smiles. "I'm here to take my daughter home. We have been worried sick."

Emma is shocked. "Daughter? You are not here to take her back to her foster family?"

"No, she is our daughter."

Emma feels betrayed. She walks to Lily. "Your father is here for you."

Emma doesn't stop walking as she leaves her friend behind.

Lily screams out Emma's name but is ignored.

Emma rubs off the star Lily had drawn on her wrist.

She misses Henry; he hasn't shown up for some time now. Perhaps he finally tired of her.

A few months later Emma's new foster family already had two boys. Things are going well. In fact they're even taking her on her first camping trip the following morning. She is so excited that she decides to go pack to be ready. While she is packing she is searching the garage for her sleeping bag and finds Lily hiding out there. Emma can't believe she is there. Emma hisses, "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to apologize. I'm sorry, but I didn't lie about being an orphan. We are alike. The difference is that I was adopted.''

Emma scoffs. "We are not alike. I don't have a family," she sniffles. "No one cares if I run away, no one will come looking for me. So no we are not alike. You should leave before my foster parents see you."

Sadly it's too late.

"Emma, did you find the sleeping bag?" her foster father asked as he approached the garage. He reaches the garage and stares at Emma and Lily. "Who is this?"

"Oh hi, my name is Lily. I'm new to the neighborhood."

Lily's ease at lying should have been a warning to Emma, and it led to Emma begging Lily to leave. The girl refused to leave without her missing crescent moon necklace. Lily's true colors were shown when she steals from Emma's foster family After a few calls, her foster father finds out the truth. Her new foster father had been furious that she had knowingly allowed a criminal near his children. By the end of the night, Emma was left with nothing. Emma grabs her things and runs. At the bus station, Lily approaches her to apologize but Emma doesn't want to hear it. Lily begs her to stay together that she is the only light in her life. Emma walks away from Lily one final time.

Months later Emma ends up in a group home in Richfield, Minnesota. Somehow the camera was still in her possession. One of the older boys noticed it and wanted to take it away from her. She screamed for him to let go of it. Miss Fisher had quickly intervened and promptly returned the camera to Emma. Once the foster mother returned to her activities before the altercation the bully warned Emma of the consequences of not turning over the camera to him. Emma still refused to give it to him. That night she is caught mid escape by Sarah the foster mom. In a moment of conspiracy between the two she tells Emma that the boy is afraid of spiders and where she can find some rubber spiders. Emma decides to stick around. Maybe she is home.

Sometime later, while Emma is at a carnival with Sarah alone, Sarah tells Emma that she is a special girl. Emma starts to feel nervous. She had seen papers from an agency in Sarah's purse. Emma assumes this treat is a goodbye. However, Sarah confesses that she wants to adopt her. Sarah knows Emma might not see her as a mother, but she will be happy to be like an older sister to her. Everything seems to be falling into place for her and she remembers Henry always told her that she would find a home. She misses Henry terribly but she still feels him with her.

The pair are waiting for their bus ride. Suddenly Sarah pushes her in front of oncoming traffic. Before she can think, Emma is pushed onto the sidewalk by an unseen force- Henry. Emma glares at Sarah and flees after realizing that Sarah Fisher is a lunatic who never truly loved her. Emma runs away and never returns.

Seventeen-year old Emma ends up in Portland, OR after getting emancipated before she turns eighteen. She notices an old yellow bug. The car is an antique, she rationalizes; no one would miss it. She is about to break into the car when a whisper stops her. "Emma, don't do it."

She pauses, "Henry?"

"Emma, please don't do it. This will not lead you to your happy ending." Emma's breath hitches, and she slowly walks away from the vehicle. The decision is easy to make because she trusts her only friend.

Minutes later, inside the same yellow car's backseat a man wakes up from a nap.

Across the sea, three men say goodbye to a loved one. The younger two hold each other as their tears fall. The older man, stands behind them promising undying devotion to the boys he now considers his. "My lovely Alice, I promise to take care of your boys as if they were mine. I will guide them and ensure for them to be good men," Dakkar Nemo pledges his lost love. He had met Alice Jones shortly after her husband abandoned her with two young sons. The youngest of the two was only a few months old when he met them, but he was now 17 years old. The slightly older man had become smitten with the young mother soon after their first meeting. Alice had gotten cancer. She had won a few battles but overall lost the war. After her death, in order to start over and provide the young men with a fresh start they leave England and travel to the United States.

Dakkar Nemo had had an exceptional Naval career. He retired not long after he lost his love, and was able to start a successful business in America. They had found their new home in Storybrooke, Maine.

Although Alice Jones had never married Dakkar Nemo, her two boys had grown to love the man that doted on their beloved mother.

The eldest boy enlists in the Navy following in his father's steps. The youngest decided to stay in their new home.

~~~At Age Twenty-One

Emma continues her life of petty crime, just enough to survive on. For years she was able to get away with it. While traveling back to the Maine area where she was found as a baby, she asks an old lady at the local diner for information about anyone who might remember the incident, but she receives nothing. Escaping her troubled past with the law just in time, each time it catches up with her.

She was so close to the orphanage she had called home in her youth. While at the local library she was so lost in her research she didn't notice an older woman sitting down next to her. The lady looked over Emma's shoulder guessing that the abandoned baby was Emma. A startled Emma turns to leave. "I know you stole from stores in Portland and you finally got arrested and skipped bail."

Emma looks back at the woman and tenses; she has a feeling the woman wants to apprehend her. Emma does what she has learned to do best and runs, leaving her research behind. The woman catches up with Emma at the bus station. A defeated Emma goes with the woman, whose name she learned is Cleo.

They go to a motel. Cleo handcuffed her bounty to the bedpost, and decides to jump in the shower.

While the bondswoman is in the shower Emma picks the handcuffs lock easily and steals money from Cleo's wallet. Emma finds an old picture of a girl she suspects is the woman's daughter. Emma is about to leave, but she spots Cleo's laptop which has access to courthouse documents. She does some quick browsing, and discovers the Camden County Courthouse has a file on her.

Cleo gets out of the restroom to find Emma staring at the computer screen. In a moment of weakness, Cleo decides to help her. Emma reminds her of her daughter. They drive to Camden to get the file. "Emma, this file might not have the answers you are looking for or want to see.."

Emma looks at the woman, "I have to try."

Even with Cleo's help the search had been pointless. No solid leads to follow. Days had become weeks and Cleo notices the disappointment in Emma each time they reached a dead end.

"Do you see this?" Cleo points to her red jacket.

"Yeah, what about it? It's just a jacket."

"No Emma, this is my armor. You need to learn how to protect yourself."

Emma's tear-filled eyes, "I just want to go home."

"Emma, I think you should let go of the past, your parents. Sweetie, you're not going to find them. You should pay for your crimes, and start a new life."

"You don't care about me. All you care about is your payout for taking me in."

Cleo stares at Emma, her guilt over giving up her daughter is haunting her.

"I'm going to help you."

"Why would you want to help me?"

"You remind me of my daughter." With those words, Cleo decides to take Emma under her wing. Cleo had gotten some legal help and in the end, Emma was only given community service since her petty crimes had not been too costly.

Emma convinces Cleo to look for her daughter.

"What if she doesn't want to see me?"

"If I was her…. Hell I am her! If I was in her shoes, I'd want to see my parents," Emma says sadly. "It won't be easy but isn't she worth it?"

Working together they soon find Cleo's daughter, Tasha Morris. They find her in Boston working in a clothing store. The reunion is a whirlwind of emotions at first but in the end, it's the calm after the storm.

A few years later they go into business together using their combined savings to open a bonds company, Fox Swan Armour Bonds and PI. They stay in Boston in order for Cleo to stay close to her daughter. Emma understands why they don't want to be apart.

Henry has been quiet since Cleo found her. But Emma tries to not let the yearning of a family of her own haunt her.

~~~At Age Twenty-Four

Things were good for Emma. She was part of a successful business, and Cleo and Tasha were the closest thing to family she had. But something was still missing.

Chasing after her newest skip, a wannabe writer, Emma ends up in a small town in Maine. Storybrooke by all accounts appeared to be straight out of a fairy tale. Perhaps that is what drew the writer to it. He had a good lead on her and she was losing him as she was approaching the corner. Should she go straight or turn the corner? Emma turn - a voice from the past tells her. She turns, except now she's not running into her skip, but a different man as they collide. They both fall and her skip is gone.

Emma mutters, "Shit" as she turns to the cause of her lost paycheck.

Beautiful blue eyes stare up at her from his spot on the floor. He turns to gather his things. "Lass, I'm sorry about that."

"Yeah, well he got away," she sighs dramatically. "What's all that?" she asked as she pointed at the objects he was putting in a box. Some hooks, an iron wolf, and other decorative items.

"Just some of my work," he says as he finally rises to his feet and extends his free hand for her to hold.

She hesitates for a second before he is pulling her up. "So what do you do?"

"I'm a blacksmith."

"What are you, two hundred or something?"

He laughs. "It's mostly artistic work with iron. I do what blacksmiths did in the old days too when needed."

"How about you, lass? What were you in such a hurry to capture?"

"Well, I'm a bail bonds person, and I was chasing a big pay day. He gave me the slip. I will get him, it's just going to take longer than I wanted."

"Ah, you're a tough lass. I'm sure you will get your man." He looked at his box. Nothing seemed damaged. "I'm sorry, where are my manners. My name is Killian Jones."

She smiled. "I'm Emma Swan. I guess I better go. It was nice meeting you. Sort of." She was about to walk away, this time in the opposite direction.

"Swan, if you're going to stick around, you should go to Granny's Inn. That's the only hotel in town. Unless your man has family here, you should probably find him there."

"Yeah, cause I didn't think about that, but thanks." She didn't mean to be snarky. It wasn't his fault she lost the skip. "I'm sure the dude is long gone. I was just going to go see if I could get something to eat. Then, maybe see if I get lucky and get a lead."

"If you don't mind some company, I was going to get lunch myself."

Emma was hungry and the guy had been nice. There's something about him that makes her feel comfortable and apparently her stomach agrees, so it growls. "Okay, so where are we going?"

Killian smiles. "Come along, Granny's Diner is this way." He points in the direction that she was coming from.

Emma vaguely remembers seeing the little diner on her drive into town. It was a quick walk to the diner from where they were. The bell rings as they enter and they find a seat.

"This feels very cozy, very homey."

"Aye, it is. Granny is everyone's grandmum."

"So what do you recommend?"

He looks at her and smiles. "I have a feeling you will love the grilled cheese with onion rings."

The pair enjoys their meal. Killian introduces Emma to the local Sheriff, a greying, good looking mid-forties man, and his perfect counterpart, his bubbly, energetic wife in hopes that he can help with finding the elusive skip.

With the Sheriff and his wife's information on a potential match for her skip, Emma was able to use the background they'd given her to track him down. Turns out the wannabe writer was the adoptive son of the town carpenter. Emma's heart broke for the kind old man as she cuffed his son. She was happy that Sheriff Nolan was there to explain to the man the situation his son, August, was in. Emma had exchanged cards with the Sheriff.

Emma was about to leave the town when Killian stops her to give her a small token. He had one of his first sculptures with him, a swan. She hands him a card just in case he ever needs it.

A couple of days after meeting the young bail bonds woman, the Nolans can't stop thinking about her. Sheriff Nolan was talking with his wife about it. "Sweetheart, I know what you're thinking, and I-" "David, I know what you're going to say. That it's not her and that you don't want me to get my hopes up. I mean we don't know anything about her. But, I can't help it." His wife, Mary Margaret, puts her hand on her heart. "This time, it's different. I feel it here, and it's not because of her name or because she has my chin or that she has your hair. This is it. Our girl found us." She finishes with tears in her eyes.

"Sweetheart, how can you be so sure she's an orphan or ever was?" He didn't want to have to pick up the pieces of her broken heart once more.

"She had a look in her eyes. That look was there when we told her about Marco adopting August as a young boy, and again when we told her he had been getting in trouble with that Cassidy boy, and that the last we saw him was when they stole poor Marco's old yellow Volkswagen and ran away, breaking poor Marco's heart. That was until he showed up here last week. I think that's why she gave them some time to spend together before she hauled him away."

"What are you planning on doing? You can't just tell her, she will think we're crazy."

"The card she gave you says Private Investigator too, right? Well, I'm going to call the number and speak to her boss."

~~~Weeks Later

Back in Boston, Emma can't shake the feeling that she's missing something. She had stayed in touch with both Killian and the Nolans. Killian in particular was never far from her mind, her eyes always landing on the swan sculpture that he had given her that day. On her birthday, she had chosen to stay home. Cleo and Tasha had given her their gifts earlier. Tasha gave her a red leather jacket from the store she worked at. Cleo, for her part, gifted her a paid week off work and insisted, with a wink, that she return to the small town that had her so captivated. All Emma could do was promise she'd think about it.

As Emma was about to light the candle on her twenty-fifth birthday cupcake, there was a soft knock on her door. She wasn't expecting anyone so she approached the door cautiously.

She opened the door and there stood a smiling Killian Jones, with a single red middlemist.

"Uh, Killian, what are you doing here?" Her wide green eyes blinked, before narrowing in suspicion. "And how did you know where I live?".

"Lass, may I come in? I promise I will answer whatever questions you might have." His blinding smile warmed her heart.

"Ok, but don't think I'm taking my eyes off of you for a second."

"I would despair if you did." Killian slowly entered her apartment.

Emma guided him to the sofa in her living room.

"I made a delivery not far from here, and I thought I could surprise you. I hope I'm not overstepping," he sighs.

"So how did you find out my address? I hope you're not some kind of crazy stalker."

He smiles. "I called your office. Your boss said you were off."

"Oh. Cleo told you?"

"She also said today was your birthday."

"Cleo has a big mouth," she sighs. "I always spend my birthday alone."

"She also said you had a week off, and perhaps you would consider going to Storybrooke?" he asked with a hopeful tinge to his voice.

Reluctantly Emma agrees. She feels a connection with the blacksmith that she simply cannot ignore.

Cleo hesitantly agrees to meet with Mary Margaret, where Mary Margaret shares her suspicions about her connection to Emma. Cleo nodded her agreement, saying she will look into it. If she can help Emma find her family like Emma helped her find her lost daughter, she will.

While Emma is in Storybrooke, Cleo visits the Convent of the Sisters of Saint Meissa and speaks with Mother Superior. It had been a miracle to Cleo's ears when they told her that they stored items left behind in the attic. After a few apologies about the oversight from the nuns, they give her a box labeled Emma. Once she is alone in her car, with shaking hands she opens the box. Inside, she finds a blanket with a torn corner just as Mary Margaret described.

Cleo headed towards Storybrooke to meet with Mary Margaret and David Nolan to confirm their suspicions.

Killian and Emma are enjoying their food at Granny's when a text message alert chimes.

"Is something wrong, love?"

"I don't think so, it's Cleo. She wants me to meet her at the Sheriff's office."

"Are you sure nothing is wrong? Your eyebrows are furrowed together," he says, concerned.

"No, it's just that she never calls me on my time off." She sighs, "she's also driving out here."

"If you want, I can go with you," Killian offers.

After a soft encouraging whisper from an old friend she hadn't heard from in a while, without thinking Emma nods.

They arrive at the station soon after.

Sheriff Nolan is waiting for them when he notices the blossoming bond between the town's blacksmith and the lovely bondswoman who happens to share his wife's chin.

Emma turns to Killian nervously. What the hell is going on? Killian squeezes her hand in support as they follow the Sheriff to the interrogation room.

Cleo is sitting next to Mary Margaret Nolan. A box is set on the table. Cleo smiles at her. "Hello, Emma. Please, sit down. You too Mr. Jones."

Killian, always the gentleman, pulled a chair out for her to sit while Mary Margaret is quiet, watching the scene unfold in front of her. David sits next to his wife and immediately holds her hand.

Emma turns to Cleo, "Okay, so what's going on?"

Cleo smiles, "I'll let Sheriff Nolan explain."

Sheriff Nolan clears his throat. "Twenty-five years ago, there were a series of kidnappings. Four newborns were stolen from St. Joseph Hospital during the night shift. The police were able to recover two children right away once the kidnapper was captured. A third was recovered almost a month later. The child had been found by an older couple and they had watched the news. However, there was one child that was not found. Our child. We tried everything. Private Investigators rewards for information, but since the woman had snapped when she took the children, she was of no help to us. She was a nurse at the hospital at the time of the kidnappings. It turned out years before, she had lost her own daughter. Once in custody, though, the woman still remained unresponsive and unwilling to cooperate with police about the whereabouts of the last child. We don't know all the details yet and to be honest, we don't care." David chokes up and turns to his wife, "Mary Margaret could you please continue?"

Mary Margaret sniffles, "We had been on vacation and I went into labor. We never thought that our little girl would be kidnapped at birth. We tried looking for her, but every lead we found was a dead end. Yet we never lost hope. I held on to this for twenty-five years. This is part of a blanket Granny knit for our little girl along with this matching hat." The little hat had twin buttercups on each side.

Cleo smiled, "You will find that the torn piece is a perfect fit to this one." She pulled out a baby blanket with the name Emma with a buttercup next to the name.

Emma is staring at the blanket, her eyes tearing. "What are you saying?"

"Emma, I was so wrong to discourage you from looking. I truly thought I was helping you and protecting you from disappointment. This is your blanket. Mother Superior gave it to me. She was supposed to give it to you, but you never returned."

Killian squeezes her hand gently. "Emma, love, I think you found your family."

"How can you be so sure?" Emma shakingly asks.

Mary Margaret laughs, "For one thing, you have my chin and this is the same blanket I wrapped you in as a baby. But if you need more proof, I'm sure we can get a DNA test. I don't need it, we don't need it." Mary Margaret points to her husband.

Emma still cannot believe it. "I-"

Killian smiles. "Emma, when you love someone you just know."

"I think I need a moment." Emma gets up and rushes out of the room.

Emma walked to her car and needed to think. While contemplating a place to go, she hears footsteps approaching. "Swan, I know you said you needed a moment alone but I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I took you to the perfect spot. If you would allow me to accompany you?" Emma stares at him with teary eyes and agrees.

Emma and Killian arrive at Storybrooke Heritage Park and walk to his favorite bench by the duck pond. They sit in silence as they watch a family of swans swim.

Emma turns to Killian, "I can't believe it's real."

Killian smiles. "It's real. I had wondered why they didn't have kids and Granny told me they had a little girl but it wasn't her story to tell. Emma love, you deserve this. They deserve it too. Please, don't shut them out."

"No, it's just I always wondered why I wasn't enough but I never thought that they were suffering as much as I was."

Killian slowly grabs her face and gently wipes the tears away. "The wondering is over, and now you can have the family you always wanted. Give them a chance, don't lose more time."

Emma smiled, she knew he was right. As crazy as it sounds, it wasn't their fault. Some unbalanced lady did this to them. Should she feel bad for that lady? Because mental issues are horrible, but in this moment she didn't.

"Okay, we can go back." Emma grabbed Killian's hand.

On the way back to the station, she couldn't help but be thankful for meeting Killian; he was nice and sweet. She wasn't blind, he was handsome. She felt connected to him and it was beyond the physical attraction.

Killian could feel her eyes on him. He fights the urge to run his hand through his hair to scratch behind his ear. He feels connected to her. He had laughed when the thought first occurred to him. It was crazy, they've known each other for such a short period. He was smitten, though; that was a given.

Once back at the station, Emma hesitantly embraces her parents for the first time.

Cleo advises her to stick around in Storybrooke longer to get to know her family.

After a few months of living with her parents, Emma finally gives in. She moves permanently to Storybrooke, her life is here. She has loving parents and she had started dating Killian. Their first date had been an experience. Her mother had been so excited, they had gone shopping for a dress to wear and had taken so many pictures of her and Killian. Emma wore a light pink dress that had a v neckline with a bodice and belt. Killian wore his dark jeans, a black shirt, and vest. Her father had done the overprotective thing even though he has known Killian longer than her. She acted like it bothered her, but deep inside it made her smile.

One year and a short courtship later, Emma and Killian marry in an intimate wedding at Storybrooke Park Heritage. Family and close friends gathered to congratulate the pair.

Nine months later they welcome twins Hope and Henry Jones. The little girl shared her dazzling blue eyes with Killian. The boy had hazel eyes that reminded her of an old friend.

This was a new beginning for them all.

Tagging:

@hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @killianjonesownsmyheart1​ @thisonesatellite​ @thesschesthair​ @winterbythesea​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​  @superchocovian​  @lfh1226-linda​ @artistic-writer​​ @thislassishooked​ @shardminds​ @winterbaby89​ @xhookswenchx​

[lilacmoon83]

Swan

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 7: An Unexpected Path

"You want me to what?" Regina questioned in disbelief, as she looked at Maleficent.

"Would it really be so bad?" Maleficent asked.

"Yes!" Regina hissed.

"Why?" Mal asked.

"Because I'd rather not have the entire town coming after me with pitchforks, that's why!" Regina cried.

"What if we made another kind of deal?" Mal asked.

"What do you have in mind?" she asked.

"We come home with you and they agree to stay out of your way. They raise their kids, everyone gets to be happy, and they agree to leave town before Emma turns twenty-eight and can break the curse," Maleficent reasoned.

"They'll never agree to that," Regina refuted.

"Oh, I think they will for their daughter. She's the most important thing to them now and if they can see to it that their people are happy in this new land, despite no memories, they can be persuaded to compromise," Mal said.

"Sounds like the best deal you're going to get. It's the only way that it ends well for you without a town of pissed off people coming after you with the pitchforks to use your words," Ursula reasoned.

"So…I get to keep my curse intact, but I have to watch my greatest enemy be happy, with her doting husband and perfect children?" Regina asked bitterly.

"You could have had all that," Mal reminded her.

"No, I couldn't! Because of her!" she growled.

"No...you lost Daniel, because of Cora. We both know your mother manipulated Snow...she was just a little girl. We're a lot alike. I myself was hating a little girl for no other reason that I really hated her mother," Mal said, as she quietly opened the kitchen door so they could observe silently.

"Look...this is the first birthday this little girl has truly celebrated," Mal said, as she watched the joy and awe on Emma's face, as her mother presented her with a cake and lit candles, while they sang to her.

"So what? I'm supposed to feel bad?" Regina grumbled.

"I'm not expecting that from you yet...but did she really deserve the punishment she received for something her mother did to you?" Mal said. Regina side-eyed her skeptically.

"Maybe not...but her mother is the reason that I have nothing!" Regina hissed, as Mal let the door swing closed.

"You know that's not really true and now you have a choice to make. Do you return to Storybrooke alone and prepare to fight Emma when she comes to Storybrooke with her parents eighteen years from now?" Mal asked, pausing for a moment.

"Or do you agree to let us come back with you and call a truce?" Mal questioned, as Regina stared into the fire and knew she had a choice to make.

~*~

"Here we go," Snow said, as she set the cake down in front of her daughter and they sang happy birthday to her.

"Wow…" Emma said, as she looked at the cake.

"Go on Princess...make a wish and blow out the candles," David said, as she looked up at them and did so. They clapped for her and both knelt down to hug her between them.

"I'm so sorry sweetheart...we had gifts for you, but I'm afraid we had to leave them behind," Snow fretted.

"It's okay Mom...I already got my wish," Emma replied.

"You did?" Snow asked.

"Yeah...you and Daddy came for me. You always wanted me...I know that now," Emma replied. Snow nearly burst into tears at that, as they hugged her between them.

"We love you so much, baby," Snow gushed, as she kissed her hair. David did too and cuddled her.

"Mommy's right...we love you so much, Princess," David assured.

"Daddy...what if the Queen tries to separate us again?" Emma asked.

"We're not going to let her this time, Princess. One advantage we have now is that the Queen doesn't have any magic to hurt us with this time. Even if it means we have to go on the run, we're going to be together," he promised.

"Maybe you don't have to run anymore," a voice said, as they looked up to see Regina in the doorway.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Snow questioned suspiciously.

"It means...that maybe we can find a way to come to some sort of truce," Regina replied.

"A truce? You think we're going to fall for that?" David asked.

"Hear me out," she requested, as he stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. Snow usually affectionately referred to it as his battle stance, but today, she mirrored him and crossed her own arms over her chest, but was silent.

"We're listening," she said, as their curiosity peaked.

"I have decided that it could be possible for us to co-exist in Storybrooke...with a few provisions," Regina replied.

"Provisions...this should be good," David muttered, but Snow put her hand on his arm and he was silent.

"I am willing to let you both come back to Storybrooke and raise your kids," she said.

"You can have your apartment back...and your job. And I'm sure David can easily find something as well," she continued.

"You'd do that?" Snow asked.

"What's the catch?" David questioned. Regina rolled her eyes.

"It's my town and I don't want the curse broken. I'll leave your family be and let you be deliriously happy, but when your daughter is grown, you have to leave. You have to leave before her twenty-eighth birthday," she said.

"But then...the curse would never be broken," Snow replied.

"But your people are safe and I can make certain adjustments to give a bit more happiness to certain...miserable ones. But the purpose of the curse was always to punish the two of you. The others that have been separated from people can be reunited with their loved ones," Regina said.

"How do we know that when we get back that you won't renege on this offer? How can we trust you? How do we know that you don't have a way to put us back under the curse?" David questioned.

"Because I won't let her," Maleficent interjected, as she came into the kitchen.

"You won't?" Snow asked.

"No...because Lily and I will be coming home with you. It's where we belong, after all," Maleficent replied.

"What do you think?" Snow asked quietly, as they shared a long gaze and clearly had an entire conversation with that one look.

"It's tempting...I don't trust her though. But if someone has our backs…" he said, trailing off, as he glanced at Maleficent.

"You gave up your chance and ten years with Emma so I could escape with Lily. I will see that you are allowed the life with her that you deserve," Mal assured, as Regina rolled her eyes. They shared another glance and then looked back at Regina.

"Okay...except the loft is much too small to raise a family in," Snow said.

"There are...other properties available. Pick one and it's yours. In fact, there's several on the opposite side of town from me. The less I run into you the better," Regina replied.

"Then...we accept your offer," Snow said.

"Then we should get going, because if the Police catch up to any of us, then none of us will get a happy ending," Regina replied.

"Well, none of us can get on a plane with all the security, so we need to drive back and if they have flagged any of your vehicles, which they probably have by now, then we need to find some other way back," Ursula interjected.

"Oh, I can help with that, dahling," Cruella chimed in.

"Why would we ever trust you?" David asked.

"Because I'm a very rich woman now...with a husband that's gone all the time, leaving mummy to do whatever she pleases with his money," Cruella replied.

"He's not much to look at like the feast for the eyes you are, chisel chin, but I get all the diamonds and furs I want out of it," she added. He rolled his eyes.

"Fine, whatever...do you have a vehicle that can get us back to Maine?" he asked.

"No...but with one phone call, I can get one," she replied, as she picked up the phone off the cradle and made a call.

"In the meantime, we should probably pack up what we can and be ready," Maleficent replied.

"I can help you," Snow said, as she went to help.

"Uh David?" August called, as the prince turned to him.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"When we get back to Storybrooke...do I have to go live with Geppetto?" he asked.

"That's...that's up to you," David replied.

"What if I don't want to? What if I want to stay with you and Snow?" he asked. David put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Then you'll stay with us...you're our son," David replied and was a little surprised when the teen hugged him fiercely. David hugged him back and then opened his arm for Emma, who ran into his embrace.

~*~

A few hours later, in the middle of the night, a fully registered suburban pulled up and a man got out.

"Thank you dahling...here's your money. Call yourself a cab," she said, as she shooed him away. David loaded the bags they had into the vehicle, while Snow woke August up. Maleficent carried Lily to the car, while David picked Emma up.

"Daddy?" she asked.

"Shh...go back to sleep princess," he soothed, as he put her in the car next to August and Lily in the very back. Maleficent, Regina and Ursula took the middle row of seats, while Snow and David got in front and they hit the road in the wee hours of the morning.

With taking turns driving and as few breaks as possible, it was only about two days later that they arrived home in Storybrooke. They got settled with rooms at the Inn, while Regina went home. To their surprise though, she took Maleficent and Lily home with her, which gave a little hope to Snow that her step-mother might fully heal one day.

Granny was excited to see her return and even more excited when she revealed that David was her husband. They quickly discovered that no one remembered David since he had been in a coma, so it was easy to let her think that they had met when she left Storybrooke.

They also discovered that introducing Emma as their daughter was easy as well. Since time didn't really move in Storybrooke, it was easy to convince Granny that she had been gone long enough for that to be possible and that they had adopted August, since that was actually the truth.

After rest and some much needed sleep, they quickly picked from the properties that Regina offered. They decided on a beautiful two story house on the edge of town, with a large barn and a farm.

David was going to stay home and tend to the farm they were building and Snow would return to teaching, as if she never left. He was also going to be staying home with the baby when it came as well, which made Snow very happy that they wouldn't have to rely on daycare.

Despite their friends not having their real memories though, they found that they didn't mind much. The town seemed to take to the Swan family very well and their friendships were easily reformed; albeit in a different way. Everyone remembered Mary Margaret and easily bought that she had been gone for years, only to return with a family.

Snow formed a friendship with Ruby and became a better influence on her and the changes in her soon became noticeable. She became a little more Red and a little less Ruby day by day. Snow and David were also there to mediate between her and Granny, which was helping to slowly tame their tumultuous relationship.

In addition, David became good friends with Graham and even helped him out as a deputy from time to time at the station. It was perfect for him since it was only a couple days a week and since time didn't really move, Storybrooke's crime was minimal.

They also managed to help Leroy stop drinking and get him into a program through Archie, which immediately improved his life.

But mostly, they relished their new life raising Emma at home, where they belonged, with people they loved. Storybrooke also came with more economic security and they were no longer struggling financially. Which was very good, since it was eight months later since their arrival in Storybrooke that Snow gave birth to their baby boy. They named him Riley.

The Swan family were frequent attendees to Granny's diner on the weekends, but one thing they had managed to avoid in the last year was most interaction with Mr. Gold, at least when they had the kids with them. But on this particular morning, they happened to run into him on the street corner.

"Well...it's not often that I see you with the whole family, Deputy Swan," Mr. Gold said, as he happened to be passing them on the corner.

"No…I guess not, but you know my wife," David replied. He had determined through observation that Rumpelstiltskin was back under the curse and none the wiser to their return to town.

"Of course, the fair Mary Margaret. And who is this little one?" he asked, referring to the baby in the stroller.

"This is Riley," Snow said.

"And these two young ones?" he asked.

"I'm August," August answered him.

"Emma…" Emma said shyly, while holding David's hand tightly. Mr. Gold paused for a moment and then smiled.

"Emma...what a lovely name. Enjoy your breakfast," he said, as he continued on back to his shop.

"You think he's still under the curse?" Snow whispered to her husband.

"I think so...but I'll keep an eye on him. The deputy job lets me keep a good watch on the town," he replied, as they arrived at the diner.

~*~

Gold hurried inside his shop and contemplated his next move. They were back and seemingly living a normal life with their children, completely awake. For now, it seemed as though the curse was still intact, but it puzzled him greatly as to why Regina had allowed them to return to town. Or why she was letting them live a happy life together, completely awake. At the same time, the Charmings or Swans as they were going by seemed to tolerate letting the Queen continue to rule without resistance. It was very curious and he decided that he would let it play out. He would observe from the shadows, but the moment things veered off track and interfered with the eventual breaking of the curse, he would intervene and make sure there was a course correction, no matter what he had to do. The curse would break when Emma Swan turned twenty-eight. He would see to it...

[blahblahblippyblah]

The Magic of Dust

Also follow on Ao3

The story of the Marauders as they go through all 7 years at Hogwarts. However this take place in a universe where your soul manifests as a daemon. Which is a magical animal that is apart of you and cannot be separated from you.

For those who did not read His Dark Materials, daemons can transform between different animal representations when you are young, but will eventually find a final form when you grow up.

Daemons usually express what you are feeling deep down and are extensions of the people they are tied to.

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

Sirius

“MOOOOOTHEEERRRRRR SIRIUS IS DOING IT AGAIN!”

Sirius heard his brother Regulus yell as he ran down the stairs towards the day room to fetch mother. Tattle tale he thought to himself.

“Hurry up before she comes, at least if you’re at the bottom you can deny it” Puddles his daemon said slithering from his arm to the banister. Puddles was currently a King Snake and his red band stood out in great contrast to the dusty green and dark black wood that made up the dingy dark stairwell of the Nobel and Most Ancient house of Black.

“Ok” Sirius said and he swung his leg up over the handrail and took a deep breath. He looked down the 5 stories of twisting staircases, It looked higher when he was perched on the edge. He steadied himself and then pushed off sliding down in circles as the staircase twisted magically to keep him from turning too sharp and flying off at one of the landings. Puddles slithered down the banister after him laughing as he went. He managed to pick up more sped then he anticipated and by the time he got to the last floor he couldn’t stop himself.

“SLOW DOWN!” Puddles yelled turning into a small fish crow to fly down after him faster.

Too late Sirius thought before he flew of the end and rolled into the hallway scraping his back across the carpet. Sirius then collapsed sprawled out on the floor. Man, that was a rush, totally worth the bruise. Puddles landed ontop of his chest and instantly turned into a fluffy back dog tail wagging furiously.

“That was awesome. Why don’t we do that to come downstairs everyday?” Puddles said.

Sirius was about to reply exactly why they didn’t when he heard the unmistakable sound of clacking heels heading towards them. The person who was the exact reason he didn’t do it every morning. Sirius jumped up quickly trying to look nonchalant and bent down to pick up Puddles who on que turned back into a King Snake and slithered up his sleeve just in time for Regulus and his mother to turn the corner.

“Hello Mother. I was… ummm… Just headed upstairs to change for supper” Sirius said trying to control his breathing so it wouldn’t sound like he was panting.

“Where is Pudicitiam?” His mother demanded. Pudicitiam was the name his parents had given his daemon when he first appeared when Sirius was 4 and a half. Pudicitiam meant ‘Pure’, something his parents had chosen because of a the Black family motto ‘Toujours Pur’. Sirius hated the name and the motto. He didn’t fall for the nonsense that pureblood were superior like he was constantly told. He also didn’t appreciate the Black family tradition of parents naming both their children and their daemons. As far as he knew that tradition was pure Black.

Walburga regarded him up and down. She was a tall thin women with a thick dark dress that stretched to the floor with long sleeves and a turtleneck that went all the way up to her chin. Her dark hair was pulled back tight into a high bun. Her presence was haunting and intimidating. It was also exasperated by the King Cobra daemon that slithered up beside her and hissed at him in displeasure. Sirius held out his arm and Puddles slithered out slowly keeping cautious eyes on Insignus, his mother’s Cobra. Having not caught him in the act she didn’t seem to have much to yell at him about.

Snakes were commonly the daemons of pure blood families. That tradition was common across Europe. Sirius was told ever since his daemon appeared that snake daemons signified superiority, intelligence and power. The greatest wizards of all time, Salazar Slytherin, Merlin, Grindelwald, The Minister for Magic, and anyone who was of any importance all had snake daemons. Stories even said Salazar Slytherins’ daemon was a Basilisk the most powerful snake of all. So from a very young age his parents made sure his daemon stayed as a snake, because a Black heir with anything but a snake for a daemon would be disgraceful.

Unfortunately Puddles hated staying as a snake, and whenever he was alone Puddle would usually transform into a small shaggy black dog. A few times when he got upset or angry Puddles would change without notice and his mother would get angry and usually punish him, especially is company was around.

“Very well, go wash up and put on some nicer clothes. Uncle Cygnus and the girls are coming for dinner to celebrate you going off to school tomorrow.”

And with that dismissal Sirius quickly as he could without running scurried up the stairs.

He didn’t notice until he got to the second landing that Regulus was following him into his room.

Sirius let him in, closed the door then turned on him.

“Why do you always have to run to mother?”

“You could have hurt yourself” Regulus said crossing his arms in anger. Sirius saw Nobella Regulus’ Smooth greens snake daemon poke his head out of Regulus’ collar tongue out sensing the air. She then whispered something in his ear and Regulus made a scrunched face.

“I’m sorry, I’m just upset you are leaving tomorrow, and I’m going to be all alone” Regulus said with a bit of a whine.

Sirius rolled his eyes.

“You won’t be alone. I’ll write to you everyday. And then next year you’ll be coming with me.”

Regulus looked at his feet but stayed quiet as if he had no retort.

“Come on, you can wear my favorite velvet robes to dinner. I’ll ever tie your tie” Sirius said reaching out to pull Regulus to his closet to try and cheer him up. As much as Regulus annoyed him he couldn’t stand to see his baby brother upset.

He would miss Regulus but he was too excited to go to Hogwarts to saying much else. He instead spent the rest of the night playing pranks on Bella and Cissy to keep Regulus smiling. Hopefully that would make up for it.

James

“James stop bouncing like that”

James’ mother scolded him as he stared up in awe at the glistening maroon train in front of him spilling steam onto the platform. Students and parents were running around greeting one another, pulling trunks onto the train and hugging their parent’s goodbye. Beside him Bahaadur was impatiently stepping in spot like he couldn’t wait to get on the train. James reached down and patted his back to calm him. His golden fur was soft to the touch. Today Bahaadur was a lion, and although he didn’t have a mane James thought he looked impressive non the less. He was proud of his daemon, when he was close and excited it made him feel 10 times more confident.

His mom knelt down in front of him. “Did you pack your extra jumper?”

“Yes”

“Your extra trainers?”

“Yes”

“Your extra set of quills and ink?”

“ummmmm… maybe” James said with an innocent smile.

His mom tutted at him.

“Don’t worry we’ll send them along in the mail” She said pulling him into a hug.

James blushed feeling embarrassed but hugged her back. She smelled of spices and freshly made bread. Beside him Sahaanubhooti (or Hooti for short) his moms swan daemon place her head on Bahaadur’s back in a farewell. When they finally broke apart his father came up and clapped him on the shoulder.

“You make us proud son.” Then he bent down and hugged him too. Raksha his tiger daemon then took his turn nuzzling into Bahaadur in his own farewell. When he stood up he said “The house is going to be so quiet with you gone.”

His mother laughed at that. “The elves will be bored with all the idle time.”

The train whistle blew, and the crowd stated forward.

“Oh you better hurry or you’ll miss the train” His father said guiding him forward.

James got onto the train and his father levitated his trunk in after him.

“Make sure to write at least once a week” His mother called waving.

“And stay out of trouble.” His father called.

And with that the train pulled out of the station. And the last view James had of his parents was them waving to him on the steamy platform.

Now by himself in the busy train hallway James was feeling a little worried. He had never been apart from his parents for more than 24 hours and now he was on his own. Bahaadur was now in his young stag form and his legs wobbled a little, which to James showed he too was worried. Bahaadur leaned against his leg either to comfort him or to comfort himself. Either way James appreciated the gesture.

James looked down at Bahaadur and Bahaadur looked up at him and together they said “ Maybe we should find some first years to share a trolley with?”

Sirius

After Creature the Black family house elf came back from bringing his trunk on board Sirius ran onto the train as fast as he could. He heard his mom calling after him but Sirius was so close to freedom that he couldn’t hold himself back. The only thing he heard was his mother shouting that he should write home before the end of the week and to remember not to consort with halfbloods. He also heard his father say something along the lines of coming home for Christmas, but both things he promptly ignored. He took off down the train corridor away from the carriage he knew Creature left his stuff, the same carriage his cousins would soon be coming to sit in. Sirius didn’t want to be around when they got on or he might get stuck with them the whole train ride. He made it through 2 carriages before the train started moving, by the third it was full steam ahead and the crowd who were waving out the windows started to disperse. When he got to the 3 carriage he was full running through the halls dodging people. Puddles was running beside him now in his black dog form which he changed into once they were out of sight of any Black family members, jumping over trunks and weaving between legs to keep up with Sirius.

He was almost to the door to the last train car when he accidently lost his footing a bit and slammed into someone, sending them both tumbling.

“BLOODY HELL!” The person shouted as he collided with him.

“Shit, Sorry mate” Sirius said quickly getting back up and offering the stranger his hand to help him up.

The guy looked his age. He had dark brown skin and spiky messy black hair and round glasses on. The guy looked both confused and irritated but took his hand none the less and Sirius helped him up.

“Sorry” He said again. “I was just trying to get away from my cousins.”

“No problem” The boy said. “You a first year?”

“Ya, you?”

“Ya. I’m James, James Potter, and this is Bahaadur” He said gesturing to the young stag standing beside him.

Puddles walked up to Bahaadur and sniffed at him, apparently, he liked what he smelled because he lowered his front and began wagging his tail like he wanted to play. Puddle never took to anyone’s daemon so quick before, so Sirius took that as a good sign. Plus, he knew the name Potter. His mother said the Potters were blood traitors, but Sirius knew enough about the intensive pureblood family tree he was forced to memorize to know the Potters were still pure blooded. So technically he was still obeying his mother’s orders.

“I’m Sirius, Sirius Black.” Sirius said offering his hand out for a shake. “And this is ummm….”

Sirius was about to say Puddles, but knew that would sound stupid and thus make him look stupid. But he wasn’t about to call Puddles Pudicitiam either, since then he would look super stupid as well as a prat. Quickly he tried to think of a name.

“Uhh. This is Fidèlami”

“Cool. Umm if you’re a Black why is your daemon a dog?”

“Oh ummmmm” Sirius rubbed the back of his head. “I’m not really fond of snakes. Mother hates when ummm Fidèlami looks like this, but she isn’t here so…” Sirius trailed off unsure what to say.

“No problem. I hate snaked too” James said scrunching his nose. “Anyway let’s find a car no point hanging around in the hallway”

Sirius followed James back into the very last cart and they searched for an empty car. They were all full except the very last one which had 4 people inside with two spare seats left. The four people inside looked about their age so James and him decided to go in.

Remus

Remus was so nervous he could barely hear to train whistle blow from the platform. He only got on just in time when his mom let him go from a big long hug and his father quickly ran him to the train to get one just in time. Once alone Remus went straight to the very back compartment. He was hoping he could stay solitary so as to not run into anyone. He had never been around any wizards, or muggle, let alone anyone his age. His parents kept him at home not only to keep him safe and secret, but also for the safety of others.

Remus understood why they did it. He was dangerous. Remus was a werewolf, and if anyone found out he would be in big trouble. Not only could he hurt someone if he got loose on a full moon, but the ministry would also take him away from his family to love under more ‘secure’ conditions. Remus didn’t know what these conditions were, but he really didn’t want to find out. The only thing worse than being taken away to a more ‘secure’ place would be if he accidentally hurt someone during the full moon. Then he would be ‘put down’, at least that’s what the ministry called it. So, Remus made the decision to take his father’s advice and stay away from others, and not get too close to anyone. If someone figured out what he was they would tell someone, then he would be in a lot of trouble, and Professor Dumbledore would get into trouble as well.

Remus never thought he would be able to attend Hogwarts. And if it wasn’t for Dumbledore he wouldn’t. He remembered when Dumbledore came to his house to give him his letter. His parents were so scared, they were especially scared when they found out Dumbledore knew what he was. But it turned out Dumbledore didn’t care. He offered Remus a place in his school for magic and reassure both him and his parents Remus would be safe. He would have a safe place to transform, a hospital to spend his days in after transforming and a matron to help heal him. It seemed too good to be true, yet here he was on his way to school. Remus really didn’t want to mess this up.

He sat by himself with Ileuad with daemon in his lap, gently petting her as he read his copy of Hogwarts: A History. She was currently in her Cotton Tail Rabbit form, which she stayed in most of the time. Having her close and warm against him helped calm his nerves. Ileuad was usually a quiet daemon, but today she was eerily quiet. Remus though this probably had to do with the fact they were both very scared for what lied ahead. So to calm his nerves he pulled out a book and began to read occasionally reading out cool facts to her. She simply nodded and nuzzled in closer to his chest.

Unfortunately shortly after he settled in 3 people had joined the compartment. A small Red head with bright green eyes and a mourning dove daemon on her shoulder. A think long nosed kid with dark greasy hair and tattered robes just like Remus’ with a small brown bat daemon clinging to his collar, and a bring blonde chubby boy with pink cheeks and blue eyes with a. chubby racoon daemon. They quickly introduced themselves as Lily, Severus, and Peter, and their daemons, Curant, Potio, and Aspecta, before Remus smiled and went back to his reading. However, he noticed Ileuad secretly listening to their conversation seemingly curious as Remus continued reading.

'This is fine. They mind their business ill mind mine and it’ll be perfectly ok.' Remus thought.

He just got to a chapter on the founders when the compartment door slammed open. The boy named Peter jumped at the loud crash, but Severus and Lily continued on with their heated conversation. Remus glanced over his book and the two boys took their seats and introduced themselves to Peter. The boy beside him was named James and his deer daemon was named Bahaadur. James had Messy black hair, that he kept making more messy by running his hand through it, and a mischievous smile that looked like he was ready to set something to explode. The by who sat down beside Peter also had Black hair, but his was longer and well groomed, pulled back with a black silk ribbon. His eyes were also grey not brown like James’. His name was Sirius Black, and his furry black dog daemon was named Fidèlami or Fid for short apparently They both wore expensive looking robes that weren’t Hogwarts issued meaning they were both probably from rich wizarding families. Peter eagerly started talking with them. Remus went back to his book.

He finished the chapter on the brief history of the founders and started a chapter on the magical architecture of Hogwarts.

'The grand staircase of Hogwarts contains 52 sets of moving staircases which provide access to the 13 floors of the castle. 54 sets on Wednesdays, and 50 during lunar eclipses. It is unknown who initially charmed the staircases to move of their own free will, however many historical documents rumoured is was the founder Rowena Ravenclaw who initially magicked them to life. There is currently no way to determine the pattern in which the staircases may move'. Remus read.

He was however distracted when the boy beside him suddenly seemed to shout at the greasy big nosed boy .

“Why would you want to be in Slytherin. Who wants to be a dirty great snake”

The greasy hair boy turned slowly to face James, his face was blank but his eyes seemed to fill with hate.

Ileuda discreetly nudged him to look at James who’s daemon was now the form of a lion who was posed aggressively on the set next to him staring at Severus and his daemon who’s daemon had changed into a snake now slowly circling his upper arm hissing as Snape replied back in a cold tone.

“Let me guess. You think you’ll be a Gryfindor.”

“I don’t think I know. Only brave and daring people get into Gryfindor”

“Not to mention stupid and foolhardy” Severus said with a sneer.

James stood up so quickly Remus almost dropped his book to wrap his arms around Ileuda. But Sirius stood up too and put his hand on James’s chest.

“He’s not worth it. Plus if yu hit him your fist would just get covered in grease” Sirius said pushing James back a little. But Remus noticed that although Sirius’ voice was talking James down his Daemon’s hair was standing on end and he was growling and baring his teeth at Severus.

“Leave Severus alone you prats” The girl named Lily said standing up.

“Oooooh getting your girlfriend to defend you Snivellous” Sirius taunted.

Lilt ignored this and grabbed Severus’ hand. “Come on, let’s find another compartment. Maybe one with better smelling people in it” And she pulled Severus out of the compartment after her.

Once gone both James and Sirius sat back down. James huffed out seemingly irritated and Sirius laughed a bit like a mad man. Soon the car fell silent again.

After a few second Peter broke the silence.

“So we know what house James want to get into. What about you Sirius?”

[she-wolf-of-highgarden]

All the times Arya mentions being (un)afraid

“A shade more fun than needlework," Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father's face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her.” - Arya I, AGoT

“The direwolf," she said, thinking of Nymeria. She hugged her knees against her chest, suddenly afraid.” - Arya II, AGoT

“She looked at the sword with wonder in her eyes. For a moment she was afraid to touch it, afraid that if she reached for it it would be snatched away again, but then her father said, "Go on, it's yours," and she took it in her hand.” - Arya II, AGoT

“Her fingers brushed against rough unfinished stone to her left. She followed the wall, her hand skimming along the surface, taking small gliding steps through the darkness. All halls lead somewhere. Where there is a way in, there is a way out. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Arya would not be afraid. It seemed as if she had been walking a long ways when the wall ended abruptly and a draft of cold air blew past her cheek. Loose hairs stirred faintly against her skin.” - Arya III, AGoT

“Three of them started forward, chainmail clinking softly with each step. Arya was suddenly afraid. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she told herself, to slow the racing of her heart.” - Arya IV, AGoT

“Arya closed her eyes. For a moment she was too frightened to move. They had killed Jory and Wyl and Heward, and that guardsman on the step, whoever he had been. They could kill her father too, and her if they caught her. "Fear cuts deeper than swords," she said aloud, but it was no good pretending to be a water dancer, Syrio had been a water dancer and the white knight had probably killed him, and anyhow she was only a little girl with a wooden stick, alone and afraid.” - Arya IV, AGoT

“Arya knelt in the dirt among the scattered clothes. She found a heavy woolen cloak, a velvet skirt and a silk tunic and some smallclothes, a dress her mother had embroidered for her, a silver baby bracelet she might sell. Shoving the broken lid out of the way, she groped inside the chest for Needle. She had hidden it way down at the bottom, under everything, but her stuff had all been jumbled around when the chest was dropped. For a moment Arya was afraid someone had found the sword and stolen it. Then her fingers felt the hardness of metal under a satin gown.” - Arya IV, AGoT

“It was the scariest thing she'd ever done. She wanted to run and hide, but she made herself walk across the yard, slowly, putting one foot in front of the other as if she had all the time in the world and no reason to be afraid of anyone. She thought she could feel their eyes, like bugs crawling on her skin under her clothes. Arya never looked up. If she saw them watching, all her courage would desert her, she knew, and she would drop the bundle of clothes and run and cry like a baby, and then they would have her. She kept her gaze on the ground. By the time she reached the shadow of the royal sept on the far side of the yard, Arya was cold with sweat, but no one had raised the hue and cry.” - Arya IV, AGoT

“The long windowless hall beyond the door was as black as she remembered. She held Needle in her left hand, her sword hand, the candle in her right fist. Hot wax ran down across her knuckles. The entrance to the well had been to the left, so Arya went right. Part of her wanted to run, but she was afraid of snuffing out her candle. She heard the faint squeaking of rats and glimpsed a pair of tiny glowing eyes on the edge of the light, but rats did not scare her. Other things did. It would be so easy to hide here, as she had hidden from the wizard and the man with the forked beard. She could almost see the stableboy standing against the wall, his hands curled into claws with the blood still dripping from the deep gashes in his palms where Needle had cut him. He might be waiting to grab her as she passed. He would see her candle coming a long way off. Maybe she would be better off without the light …” - Arya IV, AGoT

“Yes I do, Arya could have said. I killed a boy, a fat boy like you, I stabbed him in the belly and he died, and I'll kill you too if you don't let me alone. Only she did not dare. Yoren didn't know about the stableboy, but she was afraid of what he might do if he found out. Arya was pretty sure that some of the other men were killers too, the three in the manacles for sure, but the queen wasn't looking for them, so it wasn't the same.” - Arya I, ACoK

“Fear cuts deeper than swords. Arya made herself approach the wagon. Every step was harder than the one before. Fierce as a wolverine, calm as still water. The words sang in her head. Syrio would not have been afraid. She was almost close enough to touch the wheel when Biter lurched to his feet and grabbed for her, his irons clanking and rattling. The manacles brought his hands up short, half a foot from her face. He hissed.” - Arya II, ACoK

“Yoren wouldn't like it if she fought with him. She tried to look afraid. "Wolves? For true?” - Arya III, ACoK

“From up here, she could see a small wooded island off to the northeast. Thirty yards from shore, three black swans were gliding over the water, so serene . . . no one had told them that war had come, and they cared nothing for burning towns and butchered men. She stared at them with yearning. Part of her wanted to be a swan. The other part wanted to eat one. She had broken her fast on some acorn paste and a handful of bugs. Bugs weren't so bad when you got used to them. Worms were worse, but still not as bad as the pain in your belly after days without food. Finding bugs was easy, all you had to do was kick over a rock. Arya had eaten a bug once when she was little, just to make Sansa screech, so she hadn't been afraid to eat another. Weasel wasn't either, but Hot Pie retched up the beetle he tried to swallow, and Lommy and Gendry wouldn't even try. Yesterday Gendry had caught a frog and shared it with Lommy, and, a few days before, Hot Pie had found blackberries and stripped the bush bare, but mostly they had been living on water and acorns. Kurz had told them how to use rocks and make a kind of acorn paste. It tasted awful.” - Arya V, ACoK

“She had thought she had known what it meant to be afraid, but she learned better in that storehouse beside the Gods Eye. Eight days she had lingered there before the Mountain gave the command to march, and every day she had seen someone die.” - Arya VI, ACoK 

“I should have let the fire have them. Gendry said to, I should have listened. If she hadn't thrown them that axe they'd all be dead. For a moment she was afraid, but they rode past her without a flicker of interest. Only Jaqen H'ghar so much as glanced in her direction, and his eyes passed right over her. He does not know me, she thought. Arry was a fierce little boy with a sword, and I'm just a grey mouse girl with a pail.” - Arya VII, ACoK

“As his men herded off the captives at spearpoint, Arya saw Pinkeye emerge from the stairwell, blinking at the torchlight. If he found her missing, he would shout and threaten to whip the bloody hide off her, but she was not afraid. He was no Weese. He was forever threatening to whip the bloody hide off this one or that one, but Arya never actually knew him to hit. Still, it would be better if he never saw her. She glanced around. The oxen were being unharnessed, the carts unloaded, while the Brave Companions clamored for drink and the curious gathered around the caged bear. In the commotion, it was not hard to slip off unseen. She went back the way she had come, wanting to be out of sight before someone noticed her and thought to put her to work.” - Arya IX, ACoK

“Jaqen still owed her one death. In Old Nan's stories about men who were given magic wishes by a grumkin, you had to be especially careful with the third wish, because it was the last. Chiswyck and Weese hadn't been very important. The last death has to count, Arya told herself every night when she whispered her names. But now she wondered if that was truly the reason she had hesitated. So long as she could kill with a whisper, Arya need not be afraid of anyone . . . but once she used up the last death, she would only be a mouse again.” - Arya IX, ACoK

“Arya went to her knees. She wasn't sure how she should begin. She clasped her hands together. Help me, you old gods, she prayed silently. Help me get those men out of the dungeon so we can kill Ser Amory, and bring me home to Winterfell. Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid again, ever.” - Arya  IX, ACoK 

“Arya's mouth hung open. “Who are you?" she whispered, too astonished to be afraid. "How did you do that? Was it hard?” - Arya IX, ACoK

“I'm not afraid," she said. "That boy Ned said . . .” - Arya VIII, ASoS

“The castle's not closed," Arya said suddenly. The sergeant had said it would be, but he was wrong. The portcullis was being drawn upward even as she watched, and the drawbridge had already been lowered to span the swollen moat. She had been afraid that Lord Frey's guardsmen would refuse to let them in. For half a heartbeat she chewed her lip, too anxious to smile.” - Arya XI, ASoS

“When the time came to leave, he needed Arya's help to get back up on Stranger. He had tied a strip of cloth about his neck and another around his thigh, and taken the squire's cloak off its peg by the door. The cloak was green, with a green arrow on a white bend, but when the Hound wadded it up and pressed it to his ear it soon turned red. Arya was afraid he would collapse the moment they set out, but somehow he stayed in the saddle.” - Arya XIII, ASoS

“The sound was as huge as he was, a terrible groaning and grinding, so loud it drowned out even the captain's voice and the crash of the waves against those pine-clad ridges. A thousand seabirds took to the air at once, and Arya flinched until she saw that Denyo was laughing. "He warns the Arsenal of our coming, that is all," he shouted. "You must not be afraid." "I never was," Arya shouted back. "It was loud, is all.” - Arya I, AFfC

“Ashore. Arya bit her lip. She had crossed the narrow sea to get here, but if the captain had asked she would have told him she wanted to stay aboard the Titan's Daughter. Salty was too small to man an oar, she knew that now, but she could learn to splice ropes and reef the sails and steer a course across the great salt seas. Denyo had taken her up to the crow's nest once, and she hadn't been afraid at all, though the deck had seemed a tiny thing below her. I can do sums too, and keep a cabin neat.” - Arya I, AFfC

“Valar dohaeris." He pushed off with his oar and drifted back off into the deeper water. Arya watched him row back the way they'd come, until he vanished in the shadows of the bridge. As the swish of oars faded, she could almost hear the beating of her heart. Suddenly she was somewhere else . . . back in Harrenhal with Gendry, maybe, or with the Hound in the woods along the Trident. Salty is a stupid child, she told herself. I am a wolf, and will not be afraid. She patted Needle's hilt for luck and plunged into the shadows, taking the steps two at a time so no one could ever say she'd been afraid.” - Arya I, AFfC

“She opened her eyes and stared up blind at the black that shrouded her, her dream already fading. So beautiful. She licked her lips, remembering. The bleating of the sheep, the terror in the shepherd's eyes, the sound the dogs had made as she killed them one by one, the snarling of her pack. Game had become scarcer since the snows began to fall, but last night they had feasted. Lamb and dog and mutton and the flesh of man. Some of her little grey cousins were afraid of men, even dead men, but not her. Meat was meat, and men were prey. She was the night wolf. But only when she dreamed.” - The Ugly Little Girl, ADwD

“After three hours of wine and words, the priests took their leave … all but the kindly man, the waif, and the one whose face bore the marks of plague. His cheeks were covered with weeping sores, and his hair had fallen out. Blood dripped from one nostril and crusted at the corners of both eyes. "Our brother would have words with you, child," the kindly man told her. "Sit, if you wish." She seated herself in a weirwood chair with a face of ebony. Bloody sores held no terror for her. She had been too long in the House of Black and White to be afraid of a false face.” - The Ugly Little Girl, ADwD

[specthrum]

“Hey Izuku, you wanna know a secret?” 

Jolted by the sound of his brother’s voice, Izuku looks up from his coloring book, hands smeared in the wax from using the crayons a little too enthusiastic. Mikumo, taller only for the fact that he is standing while his twin lays flat on his stomach leans down so they’re eye level; wide grin spreading across rounded features.

“Yeah!” The green haired boy cheers, enthusiastically. He rises to his feet with the help of his brother, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “What is it?”

“C’mon I’ll show you,” The purple eyed twin takes the lead, grabbing him by the wrist and taking him over to the desktop computer. Once there, Mikumo relinquishes Izuku’s wrist so he can climb onto the chair; standing up so he can reach the mouse an keyboard.

“I can use the computer by myself,” he says, young voice full of pride “lookit,” 

With a few clicks and some time drumming on the keyboard he brings up a familiar video; one they’d both seen at least a dozen times.

“Woah” Izuku says with wide eyed admiration, clambering onto the seat next to his twin to watch the video of their shared idol. He breathes out a sigh of longing. “I wanna be just like All Might when i’m bigger.”

“We’ll be even better,” Mikumo asserts “‘cause we’ve got each other.”

_________________________

“I’m sorry, it’s just not going to happen,”

The words seem to echo through the Midoriya’s tiny apartment with a sense of mourning. With the doctor’s assessment earlier that afternoon it was official; both boys were never going to develop their quirk. Not fire breathing. Not object attraction. Nothing.

Quirkless.

Izuku sits in front of the computer, sniffing quietly; watching that same video on repeat. Mikumo had taught him, how to bring it up and play it on his own. Their mother catches him, but can’t bring herself to scold the boy upon seeing his face, tears welling up in those forest eyes.

“...Can I be a hero too?”

Instead of an answer Inko Midoriya hugs her son and whispers that she’s sorry.

Mikumo, tiny and heartbroken as his brother; watches from the doorway.

“We’ll be heroes, I promise,” he murmurs under his breath, clutching at the doorframe with feeble fingers; blunt fingernails nowhere near strong enough to leave so much as a chip in the paint.

_____________________________

“Ouch,” Izuku hisses in pain as a cotton ball full of peroxide is pressed to the scrape on his knee. 

“Stop squirming,” Mikumo scolds, carefully cleaning little bits of gravel and dirt out of the wound. It was becoming more and more common these days for Izuku to come home battered and bruised. The world was like that. Cruel and cold and wanting to snuff out every last bit of light.

The gangly boy looks down at his twin from his perch on the sink’s counter. Expression concerned. He can always tell when Mikumo is upset. It exudes from him almost in waves.

“ ‘m sorry” he mutters, chewing on his bottom lip as the purple haired boy peels the plastic cover off of a band-aid.

“For what?” The purple haired boy asks, tone a forced neutral as he purposely focuses on the task at hand; applying the bandage over Izuku’s wound.

“Always causing trouble,” He says, rubbing his thumbs together meekly.

“Bakugo’s the one causing trouble,” Mikumo replies, with more snap to his tone then what’s necessary. “He’s nothing but a bully. And so’s that other kid. I don’t know why you were defending him, anyway.”

The target that day had been another kid from their class, one who had no problems ignoring it when they were the ones on the receiving end of the explosive boy’s entourage and their antics.

“Hanada-san was in trouble,” Izuku says as if it were that simple. “I couldn’t just watch.”

“He just watches when it’s you. Don’t forget that. He doesn’t deserve your help.” Mikumo’s frustration shows in his voice as he drops the wrapper from the bandages and used cotton ball into the waste bin.

“All Might always helps everyone.”

Mikumo doesn’t have a response to that. ‘You’re not All Might’. He thinks, but doesn’t say. Because Izuku will take it the wrong way. Won’t understand that he simply means that All Might doesn’t have to deal with what they do, doesn’t understand what it’s like at the bottom of the food chain. It’s easy for him to take the high road.

“Besides,” Izuku continues in his twin’s silence “This year we’re starting middle school. Maybe things will be different.”

“Yeah,” Mikumo says with an awkward smile, knowing full well that nothing will be different. “Maybe.”

________________________

“Wanna know a secret?” Izuku speaks in a whisper, leaning over the edge of their shared bunk bed just after midnight.

“Hmm?” Mikumo responds sleepily, arm thrown haphazardly over his eyes to block out the light emanating from his brother’s phone. 

The unenthusiastic response does little to curb Izuku’s own excitement as he dangles his notebook over the edge and near Mikumo’s face. “Look,”

Mikumo sighs through his nose and accepts that it’s one of those nights where he won’t get much sleep. He takes the notebook gently and sits up in bed with a yawn.

“Phone,” He says drowsily, holding out the palm of his hand. He’d rather not root around for his own phone to use as a light. Izuku, seeming to understand, places his phone in the palm of his twin’s hand. The low light briefly illuminating his eager grin.

The purple haired pre-teen points the screen towards the page so that he can read the notes. They’re about All Might, of course. Primarily about his quirk, which Izuku is apparently theorizing as some sort of stockpile rather than a simple power boost.

“I think I've finally figured it out,” Izuku speaks with such rare pride in his voice that Mikumo can’t bring himself to admit that he doesn’t really care about All Might anymore. Let alone his quirk. 

“You’re right. There’s definitely a difference between his early career and now, even taking into account for experience.” 

“Right?” Izuku replies, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. Green eyes wide and happy. “Especially when you think about seven years ago when he fought those…”

_______________________

“You wanna be a hero so bad? Why don’t you hope you’ll have a quirk in the next life and go take a swan dive off the roof.”

Mikumo growls, low and angry; steps forward, fist clenched, when he feels a gentle tug on the back of his uniform.

Izuku. Even with tears burning at the corners of his eyes, rage boiling underneath his own skin; gives his brother a pleading look. Doesn’t want him to get in trouble on his behalf.

“Yeah? What?” Bakugo speaks with venom, setting off explosions to intimidate.

“It’s not worth it.” Izuku says softly. And Mikumo can hear it in his voice. The unspoken ‘I’m not worth it’. And that causes him to swallow his rising anger. Because what his brother needs now more so than revenge is support.

“C’mon, let’s go home.” Mikumo leads him out of the classroom, holding his hand and giving Bakugo and his followers a wide berth. They fish Izuku’s notebook out of the koi pond.

“Stupid. Stupid, stupid,” Izuku murmurs under his breath as he flips through the soaked pages. The sound of it breaks Mikumo’s heart, he tries to find something to say. Anything to make this less devastating.

“It’s not that bad,” He speaks eventually, taking the notebook and inspecting it himself. May as well start with the issue he can actually fix. “The words are still readable, if we get it home and dry it soon enough we can stop the pages from sticking together. Then we can just write it in a new notebook.”

Izuku’s face briefly lights up before falling once more. “It’s pointless. Kacchan’s right. I can’t get into UA without a quirk.”

“There are more important things than quirks, Izuku. You and me. We’re going to be heroes together, right?” he places his hands on his brother’s shoulders, making eye contact despite his unruly bangs.

“I’m not like you!” Izuku snaps, shoving his hands away. He looks down. And Mikumo can feel his frustration returning. He wants to make Bakugo pay for this. For everything he’s done. For beating down his brother so relentlessly.

“Let’s just...go home.” Izuku whispers dejectedly, taking the soaked notebook back and beginning the long trek back to their apartment.

Mikumo follows him in silence for a few steps before halting. “Shoot,” he mutters, loud enough for his twin to hear. “I forgot my textbook in my desk. I need it for the homework assignment. You go on ahead, I’ll catch up.”

With that he turns on his heel and rushes back to the school; determination burning in amethyst eyes.

____________________________

“You’re gonna pay,” The words come out firm, but eerily calm. Causing Bakugo to actually turn to face the shorter student. Mikumo stands his ground, even as the blonde gets close.

“Hah, what was that?” He pops an explosion in the palm of his hand. Mikumo doesn’t even flinch, extending his own palm towards him, flat and open.

“You’re going to pay to replace the notebook you destroyed,” He explains further, fighting to keep his tone even; though his expression betrays his anger.

“Yeah? And why would I do that? What’s worthless Deku need with that anyway?”

‘He’s not worthless!’

“Go, shoo, before I turn you into a smear on the pavement. I’m in a bad mood and your ugly mug is just making it worse.”

‘I’ll show you!’

Breathe in. Breathe out. What would Izuku do. How would he handle this? The other boy had always been so much better at handling people.

“You want to be a hero too, right?” Mikumo tilts his chin up, hand still outstretched. “There’s more to being a hero than having a quirk. You know what you did was wrong. Own up and make up for your mistakes. Otherwise you’ll never be a hero.”

Crimson eyes flit from the smaller teen’s expression to his open palm. Then lips pull back in a snarl and he cracks his knuckles.

“I don’t need to play nice with a couple of worthless bugs. I’m gonna be the best hero there is, because I always win,”

‘Oh, well. I tried it Izuku’s way.’

With a battle cry of his own, Mikumo lunges forward; punching the taller teen in the nose and grinning at the cracking sound it makes.

_____________________________

When Mikumo returns home hours later with a distinct limp and his own blood staining his uniform, Izuku is already in bed.

His ruined notebook sits on their shared desk, open, and with fresh ink on the page. The sight of it brings a smile to his face. His brother may be soft and kind at heart, but he was resilient as well.

Maybe Mikumo didn’t have to worry so much, after all. 

He closes the notebook and pulls a blanket over his brother’s sleeping form. Feeling much too sore to climb, he flops on the bed next to him and allows the night to overtake him.

____________________________

Izuku has a quirk.

It just. Appears one day. The day after the notebook incident.

Mikumo wants to be happy for him. He never bought into the idea that powers are necessary to be a hero, but there’s no denying it would make things easier. And Izuku definitely needs the boost in confidence.

But it’s strange.

‘Eclipse’. The strange emitter type quirk that’s nothing like their parents’ quirks. Like nothing on their entire family tree (Mikumo had researched it, just in case). It came out of nowhere, too. After fourteen years of being quirkless.

Izuku’s the expert in quirks. Mikumo spends more time fiddling with technology. Re-purposing old computer parts he finds thrown out or buys for cheap at pawn shops. But even he knows enough that his brother’s explanation sounds fishy. Shaky and unsure.

He’s hiding something. Talking to himself late at night. Eating more ravenously than normal. Staying up to the small hours of the morning. Working out like he’ll die if he doesn’t keep moving.

Mikumo tries to ask. His brother shuts him out. Shakes it off, tells him it’s nothing. And if he presses the issue then green eyes well up with tears and he urges that he ‘needs this’. And the purple haired boy relents. Leaves him be.

________________________

Mikumo is alone.

He and Izuku don’t walk home from school together, anymore. Izuku always has something to do. His twin doesn’t bother to ask anymore.

It had been a week since their graduation from Aldera. And was weeks more before their first day at UA. They had tested in separate areas.

Izuku hadn’t told him how it went. He’d assumed that he’d done badly, didn’t want to talk about it. But they both got accepted. Different classes.

They had always had each other, growing up. Them against the world. That was how it had felt.

It had never bothered Mikumo. He didn’t care about the jerks at Aldera, anyway. He had his mother, and they both had Izuku. They were a happy little family. Just the three of them.

Or, they had been.

_________________________

“Izuku!” Mikumo runs up to his twin the moment the paramedics dispersed. He grabs him by the shoulders, no longer small and frail, filled out from all the training, and looks him over frantically; as if there was something the professionals had missed.

“I’m ok,” Izuku says mildly “Just a little shaken up,”

“You were attacked! There’s no way you could be ok!” He feels on the verge of tears, something that’s much more rare for him than it was for his brother.

“Those villains...when I find them…!” Mikumo growls out, looking at the doors of the USJ with a manic, enraged expression.

Something about that changes something in Izuku’s own expression. He frowns, pushing his twin roughly away. Looking like he’s about to argue.

Like he’s about to defend them.

But just as quickly it disappears and Izuku gives him a gentle smile.

“I’m fine, I promise. Thank you for always looking out for me.”

‘Did Izuku just...lie?’

_______________________

“Midoriya-kun” One of his classmates, a girl with fiery red hair and a friendly smile, leans on the purple haired boy’s desk to get his attention.

“Kendou-san,” He says back, looking up from his notes. He wasn’t much for making friends. But the girl was nice. Nice enough that he felt bad being aggressive towards her. “Is there something you need?”

“I heard about what happened. With class A,” She says, voice low to keep others from hearing. “Your brother is in that class, right? I wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

No, nothing was fine. Izuku was avoiding him even more than usual.

“I..” He opens his mouth to brush off her concerns, but somehow the truth comes spilling out instead. “I don’t know, he won’t talk about what happened. He didn’t get injured or anything but I have no idea what he’s thinking--we used to tell each other everything.”

Before he knows it, tears warm and wet are rolling down his cheeks, and Kendou is ushering him out of the room; arm firm and strong around his shoulders. She takes him to the roof and he spills his guts. Tells her everything about what’s bothering him.

It’s not something he would do, normally. They barely know each other, despite being classmates. The girl was kind, the type of person who acted like an older sibling to all. Likely, she had just been trying to be nice. And now he was unloading everything on her like she was his oldest friend.

And the entire time she gave him a sympathetic smile, rubbed small circles on his back as he hiccuped and sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” he manages. “I’m sorry, this is ...I shouldn’t even be this upset in the first place. I should be happy for him, right?”

“You’re worried” Kendou says gently “Anyone would be. Maybe Izuku-kun misunderstood, maybe he thinks you’re mad at him.”

Mikumo...hadn’t considered that. But from Izuku’s perspective...maybe he would think that. Maybe he thought his brother resented him because of his quirk. Maybe he was avoiding him because of all the suspicions he’d shown right off the bat.

“I think...maybe you’re right” he says, eventually, finally calming down. “Thank you, Kendou-san. You’re very wise.”

“Ah, not really,” she replies, pulling back her hand and rubbing the back of her neck. “Just have a lot of experience, that’s all.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings,” Then again, Mikumo didn’t know much about her at all; let alone the rest of his classmates. He’d been keeping to himself, like he always had.

“Not by blood, but I went to middle school with Neito. He’s like a brother to me...you remind me of him, actually. He likes to pretend he doesn’t care, too.” She elbows him lightly in a teasing manner. “I’m glad I got to see another side of you today, Midoriya-kun.”

Mikumo flushes scarlet red, suddenly realizing what a blubbering mess he’d been just moments ago. There goes any semblance of a tough image.

But.

He looks at his classmate, now laughing at his expense in a playful sort of way, and smiles. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all.

________________________

Weeks pass. The sports festival comes and goes. Monoma gets worked up into a frenzy over Class A. But even without talking to Kendou, Mikumo can see that he’s just being defensive of his own classmates. The quirkless teen is starting to feel the same. Starts to look forward to school in a way he never had before.

More so as things remain tense at home. Despite Kendou’s advice, Mikumo still hadn’t managed to hold a solid conversation with Izuku since the USJ incident. He was completely shut off from the rest of the world. Even their mother had begun to worry.

He doesn’t know how to close this gap.

______________________

“Kendou-san!” Mikumo calls out uselessly into the fog through the mask a girl from Class A had made him. His classmates had gone rushing off in pursuit of the source of the smoke. He’d heard gunshots.

“Tetsutetsu-kun!” He calls, again, stumbling through, blindly. He’s unarmed and he doesn’t have a quirk like his classmates; but like hell is he going to sit still while they risk their lives.

They mean too much to him, now.

He hears another gun shot, and another, and another, runs towards where the sound seems to be emanating from. Sees a crumpled form on the ground.

“Tetsutetsu!” He moves to go to the large student’s side when he hears the click of a revolver reloading. Looks with wide eyes at a middle school student with a gas mask and a gun. “Don’t! Don’t you dare!”

Without even thinking, he shields the steel form with his own body. He can see the cracks forming; the boy can’t take another hit. 

And then something inexplicable happens. The young boy doesn’t shoot. Points his gun at Mikumo and studies his face carefully; as if contemplating something.

The moment of hesitation is enough for Kendou to come to their rescue. They all make it out alive, somehow.

Mikumo has no explanation as to why he wasn’t shot. Has no explanation as to why, in that moment, he swears he saw his brother’s shadow behind that boy.

______________________

It’s luck. Really. Or, perhaps it’s the opposite of luck because, considering, Mikumo would rather not know.

He looks at the horrific appendages covering Izuku’s limbs. The way the eyeballs move and blink. It’s disgusting, makes him want to throw up. But the worst part is knowing. Knowing that this thing has hijacked his brother’s body.

A vile monster disguising itself as a quirk. Tricking Izuku into being its host.

And now. His brother. Sweet, kind, naive, born to be a hero Izuku was....

Behind all of it. 

He remembers the sight of Tetsu’s fractured steel. How close he had been to dying. And feels anger, bitter like adrenaline fill his veins.

Like usual, though. He’s not angry at Izuku. He’s angry at that thing. The villains, for tricking him. Himself, for letting this happen.

He babbles on about some ideology about returning the world to the way it was. Tries to get Mikumo to join him.It doesn’t sound at all like the Izuku who wanted only to save people.

“Stop! Just shut up! Can you even hear yourself?” Mikumo trembles, but not in fear; even as he lunges for his own brother. Adopting a much more straight forward fighting style than normal. Izuku dodges easily, with the help of Abyssal.

“What about you?” Izuku accuses “Are these people really so much more important to you now? I thought it was supposed to be us, sticking together.”

And. That does exactly what it’s meant to. Sends a throbbing ache through Mikumo’s chest. But this time. This time he pushes through. Can’t afford to back down.

“I’m not just doing this for them,” He says, rising to Izuku’s challenge, tossing smoke pellets at the other’s feet “I’m trying to save you, too. This isn’t you, Izuku. I won’t let this thing control you anymore!”

__________________________

‘How did we get here?’

That’s the only thing Izuku can think. On his knees and clutching his own ribs and howling in agony as he tries to force Abyssal out. He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to give up his power.

But if it’s for Mikumo. If it’s for the sake of protecting his brother. He doesn’t want to lose his family, not for anything.

‘And what the hell do I do now?’

It won’t leave. The creature hangs on desperately. Won’t leave him be. Won’t give up its host. Especially not with the quirkless hero poised and ready to attack the second it leaves.

Instead, it lashes out. Takes control of Izuku’s body, even as he fights for dominance. Forms his hand into a blade.

Time seems to move in slow motion, in the next moment. Mikumo, still moving forward. Arms raised, still reaching for his twin even as he looks deranged; completely overtaken by the being using his body for its own means. It’s almost as if he skewers himself. Almost.

Izuku lets out an entirely different kind of wail at the sight of his own arm piercing through his brother’s stomach. So distressed that, for a moment, he regains control. Pulls his arm back, watches it go back to normal, still soaked in blood.

Catches Mikumo’s now limp form as he falls.

_______________________________

“Hey, Izuku….wanna….know a secret?” Mikumo manages, eyes wide and unfocused as his chest heaves with every breath. Izuku doesn’t know what to do, panicks. Tries to stem the flow of blood from the hole in his twin’s stomach.

“I didn’t forget my books.” The dying boy continues without being prompted. As if oblivious to Izuku’s turmoil. “I went….to fight Bakugo,”

“Shhh” Izuku whispers. “Hold on just. Hold on. I’ll fix this. Just. Rest, don’t speak.”

“I knew I shouldn’t. Knew you wouldn’t like it. But I was so angry, you know?” He ignores his brother’s pleas, lips turning purple. “Because of that...because I…”

“It’s all my fault you were by yourself that day.” Tears stain his cheeks. His own. Izuku’s dripping from above. “I’m sorry…some brother I turned out to be.”

“It’s not your fault. You’re the best brother I could ever want. So please. Please don’t leave me behind.” Izuku clutches Mikumo’s hand in his own, smearing it with the boy’s own blood.

Despite his pleading words. Despite the fact that, historically speaking, Mikumo always caves when Izuku cries. There is no response.

“Don’t leave me alone.”

The body is already starting to grow cold.

[vatrixsta]

How Long Will I Love You (3/3)

That’s right - complete!!! Praise be to @csmarchmadness for the gun to the head and to the beautiful, lovely, amazing @the-corsair-and-her-quill for basically informing all story choices with the things she loves! I hope you enjoy the conclusion, darling! 

And seriously, read all the awesome stuff being created by the talented ladies participating in March madness - I’m never online at the same time they are, but they’re bleeding out all these wonderful feels for us to enjoy!

Also on AO3

Remember when Emma wanted nothing more than to understand why Killian was acting so strangely?

Yeah, she was over that. 

She officially wanted to bury her head in the sand and pretend none of this crazy bullshit was real, that fucking Tinkerbell wasn’t sitting in her living room, sipping a cup of tea, while her husband was asking after people Emma was apparently supposed to know, like her parents, who were also fucking fairy tale characters.

Part of her thought Killian had lost his mind, that maybe his books had created some kind of delusion that had led to this Tinkerbell taking advantage of him - maybe she was some kind of delusional fan who’d started talking to him because of his books. He was always too nice to his fans, especially the ones who seemed a little too into what he wrote.

She wanted to call a doctor, get Killian help, do anything to cure this delusion.

Except for that part of her, the really big one, that thought this ridiculous story sounded almost… familiar? Like on a gut level. And damn both their crazy asses, but neither Tinkerbell nor her husband thought they were lying. And neither of them behaved at all delusional, if you ignored every word that came out of their mouths. Which Emma was trying very hard to do.

“I don’t know who the note was from,” Tinkerbell added. “Just that it came by bird and said I needed to find the Savior. I confess that I didn’t spend much time analyzing it - the curse was coming and I used the last of my pixie dust to outrun it.” She held up a bottle. “This was attached to the note.”

Killian sighed. “A memory potion.”

“You always did have an eye for treasure,” Tinkerbell teased.

Great, and now Emma was also insanely jealous of the obviously old and easy rapport between her husband and a fucking fairy.

“Memory potion,” Emma said out loud. “Curses. Snow. Fucking. White.” She shook her head. “Killian, can I talk to you? Alone.”

“Of course, luv,” he said, having the decency to look chagrined for apparently forgetting she didn’t believe a word of this insanity.

Emma practically fled to their bedroom, hugging herself tightly around the middle as she looked at everything that made up their life. Pictures hung on the far wall, a wedding she remembered happening, when they promised to love, honor and always, always cherish. Henry and Killian behind the wheel of a sailboat, the most excited seven year old in history their first time out. Their first Christmas in Boston, the three of them sitting around the tree, happy and settled and a family.

How did he expect her to believe none of it was real?

Killian shut the door quietly behind him and Emma spun around to face him.

“You can’t expect me to just… accept this,” she hissed.

“It’s true, Emma.”

“It’s bullshit,” she countered. “Killian, it’s insane!”

He shook his head. “I admit, I’ve had many a day where I wondered if I had lost my mind, if I had imagined all this, if it really was just the book running away with me. But I knew in my gut it was all true. I just didn’t think we’d ever encounter it again. The curse… it was supposed to be forever. I’ve no idea what’s transpired, luv, but if your family is in danger--”

“I don’t have a family!” Emma yelled. “I have Henry and I have you and that is the end of my family and we are fine!”

Killian approached her slowly, in that way he had, like she was feral but he wasn’t worried about her hurting him, only herself when she inevitably lashed out. Then his arms were around her and she felt that same calm, that same safety she always felt, even in all this madness. His hand cradled the back of her head, his fingertips rubbing soothing little circles into her scalp as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I know you’re afraid,” he whispered.

“I’m not afraid,” she said, but that was exactly what it was. She was afraid her husband was crazy and even more afraid of the idea that he wasn’t. She’d spent her whole life knowing one thing for absolute certain: no one had ever wanted her, really wanted her, until Henry and having him changed her whole life. Her baby wanted her and then they met Killian and she suddenly knew what it was really like, having someone put you first, having someone be there, a husband and a father, the way no foster parent or assholes who dumped their kid by the side of the road ever could have.

“Aye, I agree, you’re quite fearless,” he chuckled. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t know fear. I promise you,” he said quietly. “The truth is nothing to fear. You may not be terribly happy with it just yet, but the only thing it changes are some of the details. You’re Henry’s mother. You are the love of my bloody life. And your parents… wanted you, Emma. They wanted you more than anything and if I know them, they’re waiting for you to find them one last time.”

He held the bottle up to her. The fucking memory potion. Like that was a real thing.

She looked carefully into his eyes. “You aren’t telling me something.”

“I’ve told you the truth,” he said quietly. “The one thing I can’t tell you is something only you can. And only when you’re truly yourself.” He pressed the bottle into her palm. “You’re a bloody hero, Swan. You’re incapable of doing anything but the right thing. Trust your gut, Emma. It’ll tell you what to do.”

Her gut. The thing that had kind of believed this crazy story from the moment she heard it. The thing that knew there was something wrong with Killian all those months ago.

Emma took the potion.

….

ONE YEAR AGO - THE TOWN LINE

“We’ll go back to the Enchanted Forest?” Emma clarified.

Regina shook her head slightly. “All of us. Except Henry. He will stay here because… he was born here.”

Dread sunk like a stone in Emma’s belly. “Alone?” No, no Henry would not be alone, abandoned by the side of the road - right where she was.

“No,” Regina said, echoing the denial Emma felt. “You will take him. Because you’re the savior. And you were created to break the curse. And once again, you can escape it.”

It should have been the answer to her prayers. Except… there was David and Mary Margaret, who had finally started to feel like her parents, the one she’d lain awake crying for more nights than she could count. There was Neal and he didn’t deserve to lose his son anymore than Henry deserved to lose his father. There was Regina, who had raised Henry… and there was Hook, who stood to the side, looking like something was dying right in front of him.

Emma knew how he felt.

“I-I don’t want to. We’ll both go back with everyone.”

Regina looked as gutted as Emma had ever seen her. “That’s not an option. I can’t be with him. If I don’t pay the price, none of this will work.”

“If someone who wasn’t part of the original curse were to try and escape with them… would it work?” Hook asked, a considering look in his eye.

Emma looked at him sharply. Some traitorous flutter of hope she hadn’t known existed flamed to life in her breast. Stupid hope. It never learned that life wasn’t fair.

“Perhaps,” Regina said.

“What if Neal and I accompanied them?” He held a hand toward Emma. “Not that I doubt your ability to handle any foe with your usual brand of punching and kicking, but perhaps you need not start totally from scratch when it comes to rebuilding your lives.”

The hopeful look in Neal’s eyes died almost immediately when Regina spoke again.

“The magic in this curse comes from Pan. He designed it to punish Rumple most of all and as his son, Neal would be unable to escape.” Regina glanced at Hook. “The pirate, however… should have no problem escaping with you, if that’s what you want.”

“I prefer making my own choices in this world and frankly… there’s nothing left for me in the Enchanted Forest,” Hook said, but the way he looked at Emma, the way he didn’t disguise the longing in his eyes, made it very clear to her exactly why he wanted to go with them.

The curse’s thunder sounded in the distance.

“Emma, you have to go,” Mary Margaret said firmly, holding back tears. “All of you, if you can,” she added, nodding toward Hook.

“No,” Emma said, the panic clawing up inside her. It felt like the social worker was coming again, forcing her to leave another home, another family, another life that she should have known would be like all the others, but she always let herself hope, why didn’t she learn-- “N-no. I’m-I’m not… done. I’m the savior, right? I’m supposed to bring back all the happy endings. That’s what Henry always said.”

Mary Margaret smiled at her, a strong but fragile thing. “Happy endings aren’t always what we think they will be. Look around you. You’ve touched the lives of everyone here.”

“But we’re a family,” Emma whimpered.

“Yes, and we always will be,” she promised. “You gave us that.”

“You and Henry can be a family,” David said, circling around them protectively. “You can get your wish. You can be like everyone else. You can be happy.” He jerked a thumb in Hook’s direction. “You can even take in a stray or two.”

Mary Margaret laughed a little. “It’s time to believe in yourself, Emma. It’s time for you to have hope.”

Regina moved closer to Emma, resolve written all over her face. “I’ve known you for some time and all I wanted was for you to get the hell out of my life so I can be with my son. But really… what I want is for Henry to be happy. We have no choice. You have to go.”

Emma put on her big girl pants. “Okay.”

She said goodbye to Neal, again to her parents, to everyone - Henry took it hardest, of course, blaming himself, losing the dad he’d just met. Then Regina brought out the big guns.

“When the curse washes over us, it will send us all back. Nothing will be left behind. Including your memories. It’s just what the curse does. Storybrooke will no longer exist. It won’t ever have existed. So these last years will be gone from all your memories. Now we’ll go back to just being stories again.”

“What will happen to us?” Emma asked.

Regina shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a happy ending.”

Regina chuckled. “It’s not. But I can give you one. I can give you all a chance at one, least.”

“You can preserve our memories?” Emma asked hopefully.

“No, I can… do what I did to everyone else in this town. And give you new ones.”

“You cursed them and they were miserable,” Emma reminded her.

“They didn’t have to be.” Regina took Emma’s hands. “My gift to you is good memories, a good life for you and--” She looked to Henry, who moved to her side. “Henry. You’ll have never given him up. You’ll have always been together.”

It was probably the first truly selfless gift Regina had given anyone in decades. The idea of it - of never having given Henry up - was something Emma would have said she wanted more than anything… until now.

Regina gestured toward Hook. “I know what to do with them, but what sort of connection do you want?”

Hook looked at Emma. “Perhaps… new friends? Headed on an adventure in the same direction? It’ll be up to us then, what happens next.”

Emma nodded her head slowly. “Up to us. Yeah. Good.” But something about it didn’t sit right with her. She hugged her parents again, said as much of a goodbye as she could get out, then she and Henry were shuffling to the bug. Killian was speaking with Regina in low tones, an insistent look on his face. And then he was piling into the car with them, the back seat, throwing her a pained smile. Regina had changed his clothes, given him a prosthetic hand in place of a hook. He looked… good.

“This is quite the vessel you captain, Swan.”

She returned his pained smile. It was probably the last thing he would ever say to her as… well, as him. This was the last time she was ever going to see Captain Killian Jones, Captain Hook. Where they were going… he was going to be someone else, more than she was. Because at least she would still be Emma Swan, just with a few years patched in here and there. She’d grown up in that world. Killian didn’t. He was from a literal fairy tale and he was going to be shoved into the Land Without Magic.

Who was he going to be?

But Emma didn’t have time to think about that. Because the curse was coming. She put the bug in gear. Kept her eyes on the rear view mirror as long as she could…

… Henry smiled at her. Emma shook her head, lost in thought. Killian was in the backseat, hoping to catch a few winks before they traded off in a few hours. He looked wide awake. His eyes met hers. She smiled. He tried to smile back. Something was bothering him.

Emma decided she’d ask him about it after they got to Boston.

….

They stared at each other for a long time. Emma felt the bottle drop slowly out of her hand. It bounced off the carpeted floor of their bedroom and she swallowed the last of its taste from her mouth.

“Hook,” she whispered.

“Aye,” he agreed sadly.

Both sets of memories were fighting in her head - the way she’d believed they met and fallen in love for the last year and the way they really met and…

It felt like her husband was dead, which was ridiculous, because he was right in front of her, staring at her without a drop of hope in his eyes - he looked as though his wife was dead, too.

In a way, she was.

“What the hell happened?” she muttered.

He shook his head. “I did nothing but consider that when we first arrived here. I can only assume something went wrong or perhaps Regina decided this would be easier for us and did what she liked.” He shrugged. “After awhile, the why of it didn’t seem to matter as much as what I was meant to do now. Assuming I hadn’t simply lost my mind, which I confess I seriously considered for a time.” He tapped the side of his head. “The memories were all so real and in this world, the idea that I’d invented a three hundred year old pirate often seemed more plausible than the idea that it was all so tragically real.”

“You lied to me,” she whispered, trying not to cry. It wasn’t a fair accusation - she probably understood what he’d done better than he ever would. But Emma didn’t feel terribly fair at the moment. She felt like everything she’d ever wanted had just been ripped away from her.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he pled. “Anything I chose would hurt you somehow. I didn’t think we’d ever go back, so in the end, it seemed the best option in a sea of bad choices.”

“So you just decided to fake it for the rest of your life?”

“Don’t,” he warned. “You can hate me if you like, but you know damned well what I feel for you is real.”

“What I know is that all of the fake bullshit in my head made me think I loved you,” Emma hissed. “It ruined whatever spark of something, of possibility that was between us. Oh, God - Henry. How the hell do we explain this to Henry?”

“We don’t,” Killian said quietly. “Not yet, at least. There was only one potion. My feelings for him haven’t changed either, so it should be no problem to continue faking it for the boy’s sake.”

The bitterness in his voice was as heartbreaking as it was infuriating. Emma had a powder keg of rage inside of her and absolutely no one else to direct it at.

“Your feelings may be real, but I feel taken advantage of, like we were both taken advantage of,” she whispered. “I get that you were backed into a corner, but it doesn’t change the fact that I feel like an idiot who got tricked.”

His face looked stricken. “I didn’t - I never intended--”

But Emma didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Mostly because she was afraid of how terrified she was - it felt like nothing in her life was real, was hers, definitely not in her control. She was going to keep lashing out at him if they kept talking and she’d already done enough damage. Deep down inside, she knew this wasn’t his fault - but the emotions that were in the driver’s seat didn’t particularly care.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly. “I was kidding myself. This life? It was never real. It was never in the cards for the Savior. We have to go back. I have to save everyone. Because that’s what I do.”

She spun away from him before he could say anything else and pulled down suitcases for both of them by habit. She knew what they’d both need.

“Pack a bag for Henry,” she ordered. “We’ll pick him up early from school and head back to Storybrooke. Assuming it’s actually there,” she added bitterly.

At the last moment, Emma grabbed the one thing she knew she’d need - her red leather jacket. Her armor. The reminder she needed of who she really was and who she was never meant to be.

…

The drive seemed to take a lot longer than it actually did, given Storybrooke was only a couple of hours from Boston. Henry had been ecstatic at the idea of a spontaneous work trip, “just like old times!” and he’d been quite taken with sharing his backseat with Tinkerbell, who kindly confirmed for him that yes, it was her real name. They made up a story about her being a big fan of Killian’s books and that’s how she found Emma. It made her skin crawl, lying to Henry. It made her skin crawl how easily Killian did it. Then again, she was no slouch - she basically lied for a living. Everything made her skin crawl, really. She was ashamed to admit that if someone told her everyone in Storybrooke would be safe without her, she would take the fake memories over reality in a heartbeat.

She was almost surprised when the town line was there, right where she’d last seen it.

They crossed over without incident, dropping Tink off at the convent to check in with the other fairies, assuming everyone was back again. Killian offered to get Henry settled while Emma went to check in with her parents - if everyone was under another curse, they agreed, it would be best if she tried to reason with them alone.

Something she didn’t have to do, it turned out. Her father hugged her, and it was so strange and so comforting all at once that Emma had to stop herself from bursting into tears. Her massively pregnant mother hugged her, too, and Emma tried to keep all the confusion and jealousy and reluctant happiness at bay. She needed to focus on the problem at hand - whatever had brought everyone back had also taken the last year of their memories away, which meant everyone still needed to be on red alert. Emma didn’t have time to feel like an outsider in the only family that was supposed to be real to her. She had Henry and that would always, always be enough.

When she returned to the room they were renting at Granny’s - Henry would never understand why they were staying with David and Mary Margaret and the loft was cramped plus Emma was avoiding the Hook-is-sort-of-my-husband reveal as long as possible - Henry was fast asleep on the pull out bed in the main room. Killian was sitting in a chair in the bedroom, staring out the window - brooding.

On his left arm, was a familiar silver hook.

He gestured toward her with it after she’d shut the door. “Belle confirms it turned up in the pawn shop when the town did. No sign of the Crocodile. Or Neal.”

Neal. She hadn’t given him much thought, something that made her feel guilty - he was Henry’s father and even if Henry didn’t know him now, he would again.

“There are more people missing,” Emma said quietly. “David says they’ve had a hard time getting a head count because there are new people, too.”

Killian pursed his lips. “New people could mean the person who cast the curse. No one really thinks it was Regina, as her memories seem to be as lost as the rest.”

“You don’t believe that?” Emma asked.

He shrugged. “I made my desires for our curse very explicit to her and again when she took my hook and gave me modern clothing. I’ve no idea why she decided to torture me this way, but it was quite effective, don’t you think?” It was then she noticed he’d also found his old flask and by the looks of him, he’d been indulging since Henry went to bed.

“I doubt she was trying to torture you,” Emma argued.

“Who knows why the Evil Queen does anything she does?” He shook his head. “At any rate, whatever her reasons, the blame still lies with me.”

“Hook,” Emma admonished, and his moniker felt as sharp on her tongue as the hook that was once again reunited with his left arm.

“I swore that I would win your heart without any trickery and the first chance I got, I made a mockery of that vow.” He took a heavy swig from his flask. “I assure you, Swan, however much you hate me, I hate myself more.”

I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever could. I’ve just never been able to take the chance that every instinct I have about you is wrong, the way they always are about a guy I really, really like. And nothing in the whole world feels real to me anymore.

Her heart was the one place Emma was not brave, at least not the Emma who hadn’t been cursed by Regina. So she went into the bathroom to change into pajamas and when she emerged, he was still brooding out the window, like some kind of guardian gargoyle.

She climbed under the covers. “Come to bed,” she ordered. “Henry won’t understand if you sleep somewhere else.” That wasn’t why she wanted him to come to bed, of course, but it was the only reason she could admit out loud.

He was silent for a long moment, then muttered a bitter “As you wish” and joined her in bed, atop the covers.

Emma refused to let herself cry.

….

Regina was devastated Henry didn’t remember her. Emma felt bad for her, particularly when she witnessed a very angry Killian - once again sporting his prosthetic instead of a hook - obviously interrogating her about her role in his half cursed state of being. Emma imagined she told him a version of what she’d told Emma herself - that she hadn’t done anything other than what they’d asked and if things got screwed up, it wasn’t her problem. Emma tended to believe her, mostly because Regina never could give up a chance to gloat when something she’d done had made her enemies miserable.

Which wasn’t really fair, because Regina was as miserable as a person could be with Henry not knowing who she was, but Emma still didn’t feel much like being fair.

David looked like he wanted to murder Hook when they dropped the marriage bomb, but Emma quickly diffused the situation by very loudly reminding him they were both cursed. Killian opened his mouth to stupidly confess his sins, but Emma elbowed him in the ribs to keep him quiet.

“The last thing we need is David going psycho protective dad on you,” she explained later. “Besides, this part is between you and me. No one else.”

That was also the excuse Emma gave herself not to mention the status of her relationship to Mary Margaret. The Queen of Hope would probably pounce on the idea that Emma still had feelings for her fake husband and that was the last thing Emma needed to be distracted by when they had a town to save.

It surprised no one but Emma when their new foe was revealed to be the Wicked Witch. They still had no idea who she was, but tensions were running high and everyone had started snapping at each other. Emma knew she was the number one offender, but that did little to cool her always at the ready temper. She didn’t know how to stop being so angry, how to stop grieving her broken heart over her fake marriage, how to separate the Killian she’d lived with for the last year from the real thing, how to just get over it already.

It was after a particularly heated argument Emma and Killian had in front of everyone in the middle of their room at Granny’s over Henry’s wellbeing - Emma wanted Killian to take him back to Boston and Killian argued the boy was safer here, with both his magical mothers and the rest of his family around him - that Regina apparently finally had enough. She waited until the others had filed out before she pulled Emma aside.

“I didn’t want to say anything. It’s not my place. But Emma, you have to realize what this was.”

“Why?” Emma muttered. “What was it?”

Regina shook her head sadly. “You really don’t know, do you? Funny how I’d forgotten how stubbornly rigid you are.”

“If you have a point, I’d appreciate you getting to it.”

“Fine.” Regina mirrored her defiant stance. “I gave Hook cursed memories along with yours, that’s why he had them rolling around in there. But he wasn’t supposed to be your husband, he was supposed to be an author Henry admired that moved in next door who was victim to the same fire that ruined all of your things - an experience that bonded you and had you agreeing to share a ride to your new home in Boston. That was the reality I put in your heads. He definitely wasn’t supposed to remember he was a 300 year old pirate Captain who specializes in making googoo eyes at you.”

Emma shook her head. “You already told us this--”

“My magic didn’t do this,” Regina said, raising her voice. “Yours did.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “What? I didn’t do--”

“You’re like a baby with a blowtorch,” Regina muttered. “You have no idea how powerful you are and you refuse to learn. You didn’t want Hook to be someone you could lose, someone who could fall through the cracks. So you made sure he was tied to you and Henry, tied as deeply as possible in the Land Without Magic. You made him Henry’s father so he didn’t have to grow up without one and you made him your husband because you wanted him.”

“Look, I don’t need your pop psychology--”

“And,” Regina said, louder still, “you made sure he kept his memories because you didn’t want the fake version of Killian Jones I would have had to create for him to exist in the modern world. You wanted the real thing. You wanted him to love you the same way he always has. No substitutions for Miss Swan, hm?” Regina shook her head. “Get a handle on your magic. We have something wicked to fight. And get a handle on your love life, because the way things stand right now? Your mopey, guilt ridden pirate is going to get himself killed. And while that wouldn’t exactly be the worst thing that ever happened, I imagine Henry would be fairly upset by it.”

Emma tried to fold her arms in the intimidating way she’d used since she was young, but she feared they were more cradling her chest, forcing her heart to stay in place than anything else. . “You’re just guessing,” she said stubbornly.

“Maybe you’re right,” Regina said suddenly. “Maybe I am wrong. Because the only way you’d be able to override Pan’s curse and my alterations to it, would be if you truly loved one another. And to be frank, I’m not sure you believe in anything enough to truly love someone other than Henry. I’m not sure if I do anymore, either.” Regina gestured toward the door. “He’s staying with your parents tonight. He’s excited about having the loft bed to himself. I suggest you use the time to put your house in order.”

Rolling her eyes at Regina’s imperious tone, Emma tried to deny everything she’d just said as the other woman left her alone.

The trouble was, it all rang frighteningly, embarrassingly true.

Emma sank down to the end of the bed and forced herself to sort through her shit. The last year, Killian’s behavior, how hard he’d tried to both stay away from her and be with her. What the hell did she expect him to do? She had as much as told him so - he had to make a choice and then live with it. And if Regina was right -- and goddamnit, she is, she’s right -- Emma had done this to him either because she was so selfish that she wanted him, the real him, even if he wasn’t getting entirely the real her… or, even more terrifying, it had happened unconsciously because she loved him.

Truly.

Before she could think about it much further, the outer door opened and closed quietly and she heard Killian’s hesitant footfalls come closer.

“Swan,” he said tightly. “Henry’s with your parents. Since he won’t be with us, I thought I’d give you a night of peace by seeking my accommodations elsewhere.”

He was very carefully looking just over her head, his expression intentionally blank. She’d been hurting him, punishing him the way he’d always feared she would and all he’d done was the best he could in an impossible situation. He’d tried to protect her heart at every turn, even when his own was hurting and confused and at war with that strange moral compass he’d always had.

This had to stop. Now.

“Regina said something to me tonight,” Emma said, her voice hoarse.

Killian finally looked at her. “Swan, are you crying?” he asked, the worry flooding his tone.

“Am I?” Emma reached her hand up to touch the tear tracks that had made their way down her cheeks. “I guess I am. It’s funny, when you make it a rule that you won’t let anything make you cry anymore… it kind of sneaks up on you.”

“What the hell did Regina say to you?” Now he looked murderous again, which was kind of sweet, actually. That was her life - a murderous pirate fake-husband. For a kid who grew up alone and unloved, it actually didn’t sound too bad.

“This is all my fault,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. Killian, I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he soothed, flipping from murderous to concerned in a heartbeat. “If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that none of this is your fault.”

“Killian, I’m so damaged that even my magic is repressed and it only comes out when I’m desperately afraid of losing something,” she explained. “Regina thinks - and I do, too, I mean, I don’t think, I know - all of those walls I have, those stupid walls, it’s why you were basically tortured for a year. I did it. I didn’t want some fake version of you living down the hall. I wanted you. And my magic just… did it. You didn’t trick me. If anything, I’m the one who tricked you, except… I guess I didn’t, because you always knew how you felt.” Emma didn’t know what else to say and Killian was looking at her with the most inscrutable expression. “I could use a little feedback here,” she prompted.

He shook his head, as if coming out of a daze. “You called me Killian.” His voice was tinged with wonder.

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s your name.”

“You haven’t called me anything but Hook since you remembered,” he said. “You haven’t…”

Her chest hurt again from how much she’d hurt him. “Stupid walls,” she offered, the only explanation she had.

Killian took a step toward her, then another, until he could fall to his knees at her feet. He took her hand in his, brought the back of it to his mouth for a kiss. She was still wearing her fake wedding ring. So was he. She still had Liam’s ring around her neck. His actual ring, if she was a betting woman - her magic had made sure the moments they shared with false memories were still as real as a land without magic could allow them to be.

“I like your walls,” Killian confided, as if telling her a secret. He looked up at her with the tenderest expression in his blue, blue eyes. It didn’t really matter if she met him on a crowded sidewalk or under a pile of bodies - it was understanding at first sight and everything they’d shared had been real, even the things that weren’t.

“I think I was right before,” she whispered back. “No one else could have loved me well enough to bring them down.”

“Oh, Emma,” he chuffed. “I don’t know if you give me too much credit or yourself too little. Perhaps both.”

“How do you do this?” she muttered. “How do you love me like this? Like it’s just… easy? I’m not… i’m not easy. I know I’m not. But it’s as if you just… like me this way.”

“Funny, isn’t it?” he murmured. “Almost as funny as you liking me the way I am - all tortured, revenge obsessed-turned-Emma Swan obsessed, so much that you forced me to stay exactly who I was even in the face of an unbreakable curse.”

Emma groaned. “Your ego is never going to come back down to earth after this.”

“Aye,” he agreed cheerfully. “But this is the monster you created. You’re going to have to live with him.”

Emma brought her palms to his cheeks; stroked his ridiculous cheekbones with her thumbs, paying extra attention to the scar on his right. He was perfect, even in the places that weren’t. Real, even the ways he hadn’t been. No one else would have been right - would have been this right. No one else would have had her magic crying out at the idea of taking any part of him away.

“I guess I can do that,” she promised, resting her forehead against his.

She had to play it a little cool. He still had to be the grown up in the relationship.

…

They buried Neal.

Henry got his memories back. Everyone did.

They beat the witch.

Emma’s little brother was the most perfect baby she’d ever seen.

Until eight months later, when little Hope came screaming into the world.

Henry was the best man at their wedding - the one the whole town and one very fussy baby attended.

The fake memories had been good. Really, really good.

The real ones were better.