#i just have a lot of feelings about I'VE GOT WALLS EMMA SWAN holding onto her boyfriends arm

[welllpthisishappening]

Hello yes you should absolutely write out all of the headcanons and thoughts and feeling you have for 5a bc I don’t even know what they are but they sound great and I would definitely read those and stupidly emotional sounds amazing

Ok, ok, ok, so this turned into something. Which, really, you guys should probably expect at this point because I don’t know how to write short things. Also it’s about more than season five. And mostly about how often Emma loops her arm through Killian’s when they walk. It’s ridiculous, it happens constantly. The Google Doc title of this was: ARM HOLDING MEANS TRUE LOVE. So, you can imagine how this is going to go. 

Also on Ao3 because I have no self control at all. 

She spins around so quickly she nearly stabs him.

“Bloody fu–” Hook shakes his head, eyeing her with something that looks like barely contained fury and that’s fair.

Emma knows it is.

Because it’s been two days already and they’re not any closer to finding Henry or the Lost Boys and she’s fairly certain Peter Pan is actively trying to drive her insane, which, really should not surprise her at this point, but it may actually be working and–

“Can you put the blade down, love?”Emma hums, widening her eyes slightly and Hook nods at the cutlass in her hand. She’s not sure if that’s the right word.

She’s not sure of anything.

She has no idea how to read Pan’s stupid map.

“The blade,” Hook repeats. He leans to his left slightly, hooking his, well, hook around her wrist and tugging her arm back to her side. It’s forceful, but not in a way that feels like anything more than the distinct desire not to be stabbed.

It’s…no. Emma does not have time for that. She’s got–things, lots of things, incredibly important son-saving things and a variety of villains to deal with and the goddamn, fucking map to figure out and–

“Are you following me?” Emma asks, voice snapping in the otherwise silent jungle. She hadn’t noticed that at first.

Neverland, by its very nature, appears to be the loudest place in the known universe. There are bugs and more bugs and Emma can’t remember the last time she didn’t feel bone-weary, not able to close her eyes when she can hear the Lost Boys. It makes her heart twist and her stomach clench and reminds of things she never wants to remember.

It’s difficult to breathe in Neverland.

It’s difficult to breathe with her parents watching her every move and Regina wearing a pantsuit like that’s an appropriate son-saving outfit and Neal is dead and she’s got no idea where Rumplestilskin is and–

“Were you going to answer or just stare at me some more?”Hook’s lips twitch, and Emma isn’t sure if she should congratulate herself for that or not. She’s leaning towards not. Because her stomach is doing that thing again.

“To be fair, Swan, you make it rather easy.”

Her groan sounds impossibly loud. “Is deflection part of the pirate code or something?”“I wasn’t aware of a code.”“Really?”“Seems to fly in the face of most piratical tendencies, doesn’t it?”“I have not had enough sleep for any of those words,” Emma mumbles, drawing a quiet laugh out of Hook and for half a moment she’s really, truly, genuinely stunned. And so is he. Because, for half a moment, that sound is normal and, maybe a bit hopeful, and there are a ridiculous number of stars in Neverland.

They all seem to be reflecting off of them at that very moment.

She’s definitely gone insane.

She hopes Pan doesn’t realize that, like, immediately.

“That’s part of my reasoning, as a matter of fact,” Hook mutters, and he’s never actually moved away from her. The metal on her skin isn’t as cold anymore, but there are still goosebumps on her arm and Emma has to take a deep breath because she knows they have nothing to do with the metal at all.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping. It’s my turn for watch.”“And yet you’re out exploring.”“You make it sound like a game.”Hook shakes his head. “The opposite. Do you have any idea what you’re walking towards?”“It’s not like I’ve been to Neverland before.”

He licks his lips – frustration obvious and only slightly distracting. Emma is going to blame the stars and whatever his fingers do against the side of his coat, tapping out an impatient rhythm.

He’s not asleep either.

She doesn’t ask about that.

She doesn’t really have to.

“It’s dangerous,” Hook snaps, as if that’s enough an explanation.

Emma scowls. “So is everything in this hell hole. Tell me something I don’t know.”He doesn’t answer immediately and something in the back of Emma’s mind rises at that, questions and curiosities and there’s so much she doesn’t know about him. She isn’t sure she wants to know. She isn’t sure what she’ll do if she doesn’t know.

The muscles in Hook’s throat move when he swallows, another twist of his lips that makes it all too obvious how often Emma is staring at his lips, and, he finally, lets go of her wrist.

His fingers move to the hilt of his sword.

“There are places on this island with…nothing,” he starts. “No people, no beasts, no Lost Boys. Places that are–” Hook exhales, the force of it enough to make the ends of Emma’s hair ruffle slightly and she didn’t realize how close they were standing. “Just…empty.”“I don’t understand.”“And that’s the rub isn’t it? There’s not anything to understand.”“Should I make that joke about no sleep again?”Hook scoffs, the hint of a smile tugging at the ends of his mouth. Emma is having a difficult time keeping her eyes open. “No, that’s alright, love,” he says, softer than anything he’s said in…ever. Maybe. Definitely.

This may be a dream.

She hopes not.

“Have you,” Emma whispers, eyes moving anywhere except Hook’s face, “have you been to some of these places? Nowhereland?”“Clever title.”“Not an answer.”He makes a noise in the back of his throat, a sound that makes it all but impossible for Emma to pull her eyes up and the air in Neverland is always oppressive, humid and heavy, but now it feels as if it’s filling her lungs with cement. She pulls her lips behind her teeth.

“Once,” Hook answers. “A very long time ago.”“And I take it it didn’t end well?”“No, it did not. These places, they’re–it’s as if everything gets pulled out of you. Every thought, every belief, every ounce of…humanity left in you.”“Why?” Hook eyes her – a flash of something and Emma digs her boots into the ground. “It’s not as if either one of us is going to sleep any time soon.”“I think it’s Pan,” he says. His knuckles have gone white gripping his sword. “I think it’s the realm responding to Pan and every single whim that passes through the demon’s mind.”“You think the–what? The island is trying to pull goodness out of people? Why?”“Magic,” Hook replies simply. “Those are places with nothing left, love. The magic on this island has been withering for years. It’s like–a flame with only a bit of wax below it. Flickering and doing its best to hold on, but–”“–It’s only a matter of time,” Emma finishes, Hook nodding in agreement. “So Neverland is trying to make up for it by drawing people to…”“Nothing.”

She bit her lip at some point. There’s blood in her mouth. And every single one of her muscles feels like it’s stretched too tight and too thin, a discomfort that’s worse than exhaustion because this is more than exhaustion and Hook tilts his head when she looks at him.

“You didn’t have to follow me,” Emma says. Her voice cracks.

And Hook shakes his head again, strands of hair brushing dangerously close to his brows, which only makes her hold his gaze longer and the whole thing is as absurd as it isn’t because he’s goddamn Captain Hook and Neverland is trying to drain them all of their life force and she’s going to strangle Peter Pan as soon as she sees him.

“Didn’t I, though?”

Emma doesn’t answer. She’s not sure she can.

And that’s probably for the best because she’s not entirely prepared for Hook to shift on his feet, standing up a bit straighter with shoulders set and that same flash in his eyes, a glint of a memory and a moment and she doesn’t actually gasp when he offers her his arm.

She takes it, looping her own around the bend of his elbow and the leather is soft against her skin.

“We’re going to find him, Emma,” Hook says, quiet and certain. She nods. She believes him.

“What is he going to do? I’ve got magic, he’s got one hand!”

She hates herself as soon as the words come out of her mouth. Truth be told, she hated herself as soon as the words landed on the tip of her tongue and whatever part of her brain controlled motor skills, but Emma isn’t sure her heart has beat at a regular rhythm in the last seventy-two hours and the look on Hook’s face is–

“You know I’m good in a fight,” he counters, and she knows it’s a defense mechanism.

She knows.

She knows.

She knows he did the best he could, was trying to protect Henry and her and probably the entire goddamn town because he may actually not be the villain she needs him to be.

He’s not.

She knows that too.

“At the very least he can draw fire,” David reasons. Hook’s expression shifts again.

“Oh, now I’m cannon fodder?”

Emma’s going to scream. That seems kind of selfish, though, with Mary Margaret in labor and Zelena who knows where and she, somehow, is still dealing with Rumplestilskin.

There is not enough oxygen in this hospital for the amount of groaning she’d like to be doing.

David doesn’t blink when he looks at her.

And her groan sounds kind of pathetic, really.

“Fine,” she sighs, complete with an arm movement that is the height of melodrama. “He can come. “Hook glances at her, shoulders slumped and something that feels distinctly like defeat sitting across them. The light in the hospital hallway looks ridiculous glinting off the hilt of his sword.

That sentence isn’t as strange as it probably should be.

“Fine,” he nods, succinct and distinctly unemotional and there should not be any emotion there. Emma does not have time for emotion. She’s going to do this, save everyone because that’s her job, and then she’s packing up her stuff and taking her kid as far away from magic and danger and wicked witches as she possibly can.

She’s going back home. She thinks. She knows. She’s got no goddamn idea.

“Shall we?” Hook presses.

Emma barely looks at him when she answers, already moving towards Henry. “Hang on, give me a sec.”

She hugs her kid.

“You ready, Swan?”She hugs her kid tighter.

“Yeah,” Emma nods. “Let’s end this.”

It, well, it goes to shit from there. And, honestly, Emma isn’t even really sure how, which makes it that much worse. It’s half a moment and a splash of water and he’s already so cold when she pulls him back onto the ground, a pallor to his skin that makes the breath catch in her throat.

Emma doesn’t know what to do.

She can’t move her hands fast enough – memories of middle school health classes and a plastic dummy some kid she can’t remember the name of tried to kiss at one point and there’s something about chest compressions.

“There’s got to be water in his lungs,” she mumbles, half to herself and half to some greater power and she can feel the magic roaring in her ears.

It doesn’t help her. It’s too much and not enough, all at once, a rush of everything and nothing and–Let me guess, with you?

“Oh, fucking hell,” Emma says, blinking so the tears she can barely feel in the corner of her eyes don’t fall on her cheeks. She shakes him, desperation clawing its way to the surface and her fingers feel like they’re on fire.

“Hook, wake up! Killian! Killian, come back to me!”

And, well, there it is.

The truth and the feeling and the magic in her seems to simmer, a fire low in her belly and in between every single one of her ribs and he’s not breathing.

He’s got to come back.

He had come back.

She knows.

“Son of a bitch,” Emma hisses, and it doesn’t take long to decide. She’s not sure there really was much of a decision.

She presses her lips to his.

And it happens almost immediately, a tug and a pull and the emptiness she feels in every single one of her limbs is only a little jarring. There are tears on her cheek. She’s got no idea what she’s doing with her thumb, but Emma can’t stop touching him, still a hint desperate and a bit selfish and she wants far more than she’s willing to admit.

He coughs before he opens his eyes, water and air in equal measure, snapping his head back towards Emma in a way that can’t possibly be safe for someone who very nearly drowned.

Or did drown.

Emma doesn’t know the specifics.

“Swan,” he mumbles, and it’s probably wrong for several of her internal organs to react the way they do. His fingers drift towards his mouth, eyes widening and the terror that etches itself on his face is…she can’t breath. “Swan, what did you do? What did you do?”

She doesn’t answer.

He knows.

Emma swallows, standing up and offering Hoo–Kill–no, Hook, her hand. He takes it, palm still clammy and grip on the wrong side of shaky, but he doesn’t let go even when they start walking away from the farmhouse and neither one of them say anything when Emma twists her arm around his.

She can’t breathe.

Emma refuses to question whether or not that’s because of the corset in her dress or because she’s having a difficult time forming coherent sentences every time she looks to her left.

That jacket is–

“Just when I thought the clothes here couldn’t get any worse,” she grumbles, letting her eyes flit around the ballroom and there is actually a man standing there to take their invitations.

The whole thing is absurd.

And over the top.

And she wonders if it’d be weird to ask Rumplestilskin if they could bring that jacket home.

Or, well, Storybrooke.

Or, well, the present.

She’s going back to New York.

Yes. Right? Absolutely.

They’ve just got to get her parents to fall in love first.

Simple.

Emma has no memory of moving her arm, is only aware of its current state when her fingers start to tingle from being airborne for so long and she can hear the smile in his voice before she even looks up.

This jacket is causing problems.

“You might not be able to move Swan, but you cut quite a figure in that dress.”

She smiles. And the not-so-small flutter of emotion that lingers on every inch of her skin feels a bit like sparks and a hint like magic and both of those things are impossibilities.

Emma doesn’t have magic anymore.

She’s got a schedule to stick to – one that goddamn King Midas almost destroys, but she can’t find it in herself to be too frustrated because that is how she learns that Captain Hook may actually be the world’s worst liar in a variety of different realms and various timelines.

He stammers and stutters and his eyes widen in a way that almost makes him look innocent, which is absurd because he’s Captain Hook, but the jacket, God the fucking jacket, is messing with her head and her opinions on monarchies and it might me fun to play princess for a moment.

Just a moment.

It makes her heart sputter in her chest.

She has to glance down to make sure her left foot isn’t actually emitting flames.

Nothing.

Of course not.

Maybe playing is overrated. Maybe Emma is kind of bitter. She assumes it has something to do with the corset.

“Mary Margaret and David are always going on about this ball or that ball,” Emma whispers, leaning a bit closer because the music is loud and there are lots of people and she’s glad she’s not the worst liar in that room. It’s comforting while she’s lying. “What’s the big deal about these things?”

When she was ten she’d gone to a school that encouraged students to dress up on Halloween and Evelyn Sola had dressed up as a princess. No specific princess. Just a princess. Her mother had made the dress, far more intricate than anything bought in the costume store in the strip mall on the other side of town, with beading and bright colors and Emma still isn’t sure if she’s ever been more jealous than she was walking into that classroom on a Thursday morning.

She’s a walking contradiction and a liar and–her jaw drops. She’s fairly certain her knees wobble a bit too and it’s suddenly difficult to walk, but there’s still an arm wrapped around hers and he doesn’t let her fall.

She can still hear the smile.

“You were saying?”Emma never graduated high school so she would argue that’s why she can’t come up with anything witty to say – no quick comeback or slightly biting retort and it’s really probably the goddamn jacket and whatever his fingers keep doing when they happen to brush over her skin.

Her feet still aren’t on fire.

“What am I supposed to do?”“Blend in.”He doesn’t waver when he wraps his fingers around hers – no trace of lie or anything except the absolute certainty that the schedule can wait a moment and the moment can linger and it’s nice in a way that is far bigger than nice.

“Wait, are you saying you know how to do whatever this is?”“It’s called a waltz, Swan. There’s only one rule, pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”Emma smiles, the closeness of him overwhelming and a little intoxicating and she hadn’t gotten drunk that Halloween – she’d been ten for god’s sake, but there were other Halloweens and other almosts and she can’t remember a single one of them feeling like this.

He starts moving.

She follows.

Or the other way around because the specifics don’t matter and the moments stretches out and Emma takes a deep breath as soon as Killian Jones calls her your highness and keeps his arm wrapped around her.

He flinches when she touches him.

It makes her blood run cold, which is not a pun Emma has time for when dealing with evil snow queens and memories she’s only recently remembered, but Killian’s jaw clenches and she swears her heart stops for a moment.

He doesn’t blink.

Every movement looks exaggerated and over the top, a twist of his hand or tilt of his head. He keeps clenching his jaw.

And Emma knows something is wrong.

“The important thing is, it works,” Killian says, a promise that rings hollow in the middle of Granny’s. “All they have to do is walk through it.”

“Then we should go.”“Brilliant. I, alas, bruised myself during the curse. Really need to get it seen to.”Something is wrong.

She knew it before the curse and during the curse and this is–

He’s already walking away from her. That doesn’t happen. Ever.

“Hey, Killian,” Emma says quickly, stepping back into his space and his eyes widen when her hand lands on his cheek. “What’s wrong? You are acting strange.”He tries to smile. It absolutely does not work.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”He kisses her wrong. Again. It’s too quick and too…nothing, no feeling or emotion and the Killian she–no, it’s far too early and there still far too many threats and something is wrong.

“See you around…love.”

Killian moves again, a step to his right, but it’s as if his hand hasn’t gotten the message and the grip he has on Emma’s forearm will probably leave a mark. His fingers shake with the effort of holding on, like he’s trying to grip something or make sure it doesn’t disappear and Emma resists the urge to touch him again.

He lets go with a flourish.

And, Emma realizes belatedly, it’s the first time he’s tried to hold onto her arm in weeks.

Rumplestilskin is gone.

Emma Swan is so goddamn happy she sometimes worries she’ll actually burst with the feel of it.

That may be her magic, honestly.

And it’s got nothing to do with Rumplestilskin. It’s got everything to do with the easy quiet and the sense of peace and she’s started using the phrase boyfriend out loud.

It makes him smile.

So she keeps doing it.

The muscles in her face are going to get stuck that way.

They go on dates. They don’t go on dates. They sit on the couch in her parent’s loft with her kid and movies in the background and it’s nice and normal and better than both of those words.

And she’s fairly positive the arm thing is, in fact, a Navy thing.

He told her about it a few days before – quiet admissions walking down Main Street because that’s a thing they do now, they take walks and they talk and they explain and admit and a whole slew of other verbs that aren’t nearly as bad as Emma always thought they had to be.

“Liam was a stubborn git sometimes, but he was–” Killian had said, taking a deep breath and his fingers still move every time he hooks his arm around hers. Like he’s tracing her skin or committing to memory. There’s probably a map joke to be made. “He got us that life. It was..respectable, honorable.”A gentleman.

Honestly, the muscles in her face don’t know what have hit them in the last few weeks.

“You ready to go, love?”Emma’s head snaps up to find Killian holding her jacket in his hand, standing in Regina’s foyer because they had Sunday dinner and it was only a little weird, but that might have just been her and Henry is staying there tonight.

She nods.

Killian beams.

“You want to walk?” she asks, sliding her arms into the offered jacket. “I can put my jacket on myself, you know.”He hums, a hint of teasing in the sound that really isn’t playing fair at all, but then his lips brush behind her ear and that’s even worse. Better. Definitely better. “A fact I’m all too aware of,” Killian promises. “Let’s walk.”They say their goodbyes, promises to see you soon as if they don’t see each other every day, and Emma isn’t surprised when he offers her his arm as soon as the front door closes behind them. It makes the magic flutter in her veins.

And it’s totally a Navy thing – a bit of the past and the present, the desperate desire to live up to something, still and always, and Emma isn’t even sure he realizes he keeps doing it, and–

“Did you leave a string of broken hearts in your wake, Lieutenant?” she asks, pulling herself closer to Killian’s side. He’s always impossibly warm.

“It’s insulting not to use a man’s proper rank, Swan.”She nods again, nose scrunched and lips twisted because those things never fail to make the tips of Killian’s ears turn red. “You’re still not very good at deflecting. I’m serious. I’d imagine all the young ladies in a variety of ports swooned quite a bit.”“I think this means you’re swooning.”“Deflecting.”Killian chuckles, a press of his lips to the top of her hair even as they walk towards Granny’s. “Not as such.”“I think you’re leaving out the most interesting parts of this story. Captain.”His eyes flash, turning on her suddenly enough that the breath rushes out of her and they’ve made it across town far quicker than she expected. She’s pressed up against a door far quicker than she expected as well, a quick roll of hips and teeth grazing on the side of her neck and that goddamn spot behind her ear, something about treasure and pirates and she’s never really been jealous, but she doesn’t want there to have been anyone else.

Not anymore.

Not–no, she’ll get there eventually.

In the meantime she’s more than willing to frustrate Granny and, possibly, break a few public indecency laws because her boyfriend is exceptionally good at kissing her.

“I like that better,” Killian mumbles against her mouth, fingers ghosting over her hip. There’s more kissing and more fingers, which is biologically impossible, but Emma’s magic feels as if it’s pouring out of her so maybe she’s just evolving right there, and she doesn’t hear him at first.

“What?”

“Stay?” he repeats, a question and a want and she must respond. She, at least, nods.

Her shirt is halfway off before they unlock his door.

And she falls asleep with an arm wrapped around her.

“Well, you don’t look like a crocodile.”

“Guess I lucked out.”She can’t possibly be expected to deal with his eyebrows. Not when it feels as if she’s been twisted and reformed, new and the same, good and bad, light and dark. But he’s standing there and smiling and she wants, wants, wants.

“He never did say it back did he?”

Emma ignores it, the voice in the back of her head and the desire that burns right in the middle of her. The need to take and control and she deserves it.

It’s her right. After everything, years and loneliness and never getting what she wanted, the world owes her. Several different realms owe her.

All of goddamn magic owes her.

The voice laughs.

“Here,” her mother says, brandishing the dagger in front of Emma and the voice disappears as soon as it arrives. “We think you should have this.”

Emma can taste the temptation on her tongue, sweet like…God, she doesn’t know. She can’t possibly know. She can’t keep a single thought in check, each one appearing and dissolving like fog on the water and smoke in the air and her fingers tingle at her side.

She wants.

She wants too much.

She wants Killian to take another step towards her.

“Of course,” the voice adds with a slightly different lilt, and Emma doesn’t dare take her eyes off the dagger, “you didn’t really give him a chance did you. Far too self-sacrificing for your own good. What’s a poor pirate to do?”Emma grits her teeth, swallowing back her retort. Whatever her parents are saying is nothing more than a buzz in her ears, a distraction and a pull and the magic is strong. Too strong.

Overwhelming.

She glances away from the dagger. Rumplestilskin doesn’t say anything. And she knows he wasn’t the one speaking.

There’s more than one.

“No,” Emma says, doing her best to make the word sound certain.

It’s not.

Rumplestilskin doesn’t blink.

And she gives the dagger to Regina.

She’s less certain about that.

There isn’t time to second-guess, though – there’s explanations and Granny’s and Killian’s arm finds hers as soon as they start walking because, apparently, they’re in Camelot now. With knights and the round table and goddamn King Arthur.

She tugs herself closer to his side, trying to cling to something she isn’t sure has a name, but may just be a feeling, the steady certainty of him and the quiet confidence and she wants, wants, wants.

And Emma knows something is off as soon as they set foot on the drawbridge, a shadow to it all that doesn’t ring true with the legend she knows, but there’s no time for that either.

There is a dance.

Apparently.

“We don’t have time to waste on a bloody dance,” Killian seethes, pulled away from the crowd with his hook resting on the small of Emma’s back.

“I’m not going to go dark in one night,” Emma argues. That want is back, growing and festering until she wonders if it’s worked its way into her bloodstream and her muscles and the tips of her fingers. He’s a good dancer.

He may get a new jacket.

“He didn’t say it back,” the voice calls. “Still. There’s been plenty of time, don’t you think?”Emma ignores it, tilting her head up to find a pinch between Killian’s eyebrows. There’s tension in his shoulders and a clench to his jaw, exhaustion lingering in the air around him.

“I’m not willing to take that chance,” he says.

He takes a step away from her.

The voice laughs. “Nothing.”

She hugs her kid. Tightly. As tightly as she can. And does her best to cling to some semblance of hope because, at this point, everything has felt a little hopeless and she’s not sure if her eyes will ever be prepared for normal sunlight and Killian keeps glancing at his shoes.

Henry squeezes her back.

He doesn’t say anything when she and Killian walk away, which is equal parts the worst thing that’s ever happened to her and some kind of rather large mercy.

Emma keeps her head up when she moves, half a step in front of Killian with her fucking heart in a bag and the elevator door rattles when he yanks it closed. She doesn’t really think about what she does next.

She turns, whether on instinct or want or true goddamn love, it doesn’t really matter. Her feet twist and her face turns towards his shoulder, arm wrapping around his until they’re practically occupying the same few inches of space and it still isn’t close enough.

Emma isn’t sure anything ever really would be.

And she knows it’s greedy and needy and several other buzzwords with decidedly negative connotations, but she can’t bring herself to care because it’s this and them and she’s not leaving without him.

She’s not.

He kisses the crown of her head without a word.

There’s no ambrosia. There’s true love and tests and the feel of him under her when she pushes him out of the flames, but there’s no ambrosia and Emma feels that last bit of hope flare out as soon as Killian’s fingers catch hers in the chamber.

“What?” she whispers, and it’s a stupid question because she knows that look and knows that answer and her vision is already starting to swim in front of her eyes.

“I’m not going up with you. I never was. We’re never going to find anything up there to save me.”

Emma argues. She steps forward only try and pull him back, move him into her space again, but he doesn’t shift, doesn’t flinch and–

“I’m afraid we don’t have that choice, love.”

There are words, promises and emotions and his hand on her cheek. It’s not enough. Still or always or whatever.

Fuck.

The elevator door creaks again when he pulls it down, and Emma can’t breathe, can’t think, is teetering on the edge of several metaphorical cliffs in the middle of the Underworld and Killian Jones has the audacity to even try and smile at her.

“I love you.”“I love you, too.”

His skin is cold when she kisses him, fingers wrapping around the back of his neck in a misplaced effort to keep him there and with her because she’s stubborn and desperate and the magic in her cries out to do something.

Anything.

There isn’t anything to do.

Maybe there never was.

Fuck. Again.

He has to press up on his toes to keep her hand in his, lips brushing over the back of her palm with a reverence that makes her tears fall faster. And his fingers grapple to hold onto her, but the elevator is moving and it all feels so final and so certain and the door presses into her stomach when Emma tries to keep touching him.

She can’t.

The magic lingers anyway, an electric current in her veins and her arteries and she never graduated high school, she doesn’t know how biology works, but her arm feels heavy at her side as the tears continue to fall down her cheeks.

He’s really the world’s worst liar.

“They’re thousands of leagues under the sea. No one will be able to find them, not even Poseidon himself.”Honestly.

The world’s worst liar.

Emma smiles anyway, hands on Killian’s chest and there’s a chill in the air that feels oddly appropriate. Regina was right; magic is frustratingly literal sometimes.

So, she does the only thing she can think of to be less frustrated. About everything. Prophecy and fate and Evil Queens and scissors that could change the course of everything. She barely even tugs on his shirt before Killian moves, ducking his head and letting Emma catch his lips with hers.

It’s not a rushed thing, no overwhelming emotions or metaphors about waves or anything like that. It’s easy and simple and home. It’s the exact opposite of everything else.

Probably something about a safe harbor.

Making jokes seems kind of tactless in the moment, though.

“Thank you,” Emma whispers. She doesn’t move her hands.

“There’s a storm coming.”“Seems like a perfect night for a fire and some hot buttered rum.”Killian’s expression doesn’t change much, but she’s gotten pretty good at this whole relationship thing and, well, life thing and he’s so bad at lying. It would be funny if he weren’t making sweeping statements about the weather.

And she wasn’t fated to die.

That sucked.

Honestly.

“Sounds like heaven,” Killian says, less of a lie than anything else he’s said. “Just need to check on the old girl. Secure the rigging.”

“Pizza or Chinese?”“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise, that’s all I want you to have.”He brushes his knuckles across her cheek before he kisses her, another soft press that leaves her stomach swooping and her heart beating irregularly and she’s never actually asked if he can feel her magic, but Emma’s got some fairly strong suspicions.

She knows he didn’t get rid of the shears.

And she understands why.

Perfectly.

Emma smiles again before she turns away, ignoring, for a moment, everything that’s wrong in favor of everything that’s right and the certainty that this is absolutely, positively, one of those things. In spades or something.

She needs to stop making jokes in her head.

She waits at the end of the docks, texting Henry to give the pizza guy the five bucks sitting on the kitchen table, and Killian blinks when he notices her.

“You want to walk me home?” Emma asks, a fairly pitiful attempt at coy. It might kind of be flirting though, and the smile on his face when he realizes that is enough.

Killian nods. “Aye, I do.”“Figured.”She twists her arm around his before he offers it.

Dying, Emma quickly realizes, has a way of starkly throwing everything into perspective.

And, she’s even quicker to realize, throwing her husband into full-on pirate protector mode.

The thought makes her smile.

Husband.

She’s got a husband.

A husband.

“You really shouldn’t be awake.”

Emma bites her lower lip, burrowing further against the small mountain of pillows behind her because she refuses to be held responsible for her reaction to Killian standing in the doorway.

Their doorway.

In their house.

That they share.

Together.

Because they’re married.

He’s her husband.

She feels a little drunk.

“I can’t possibly sleep twenty-four hours a day, babe,” she says, an old argument that he seems determined to prove wrong. Emma is certain, if Killian had his way, she would sleep for several weeks straight, and for the first few days after The Final Battle, she wouldn’t have questioned it.

Dying, it seems, is also a very good way to exhaust a person.

She’d felt drained, as if she’d been deflated or some other word a human being never should feel, but it had been difficult to stand and even more difficult to feel her magic and although Emma’s first few memories after that moment were hazy at best, she distinctly remembers Killian picking her up at some point.

And mumbling a tradition, love when he carried her through the doorway.

“I think you could definitely try,” Killian counters. The floorboards creak when he steps into the room, but he’s stopped refusing to sit on the edge of the bed now, so Emma figures that makes it a wash. “It’s not unreasonable.”“It’s ridiculous.”“It’s cautious. At best.”“Worst.”“Swan.”Emma shakes her head, and she does feel bad because, well, she died, but he died, like, three times and it’s certainly not a competition. So she keeps telling herself. She just–”Why are you in here? What time is it even?”“Almost four.”“Is Henry back from school yet?”“I believe he was helping your mother with some sort of event after the end of the day,” Killian says. “Archery or…”“Oh yeah, yeah, I think she texted me about that.” Killian’s eyebrows fly up his forehead so quickly Emma can’t help but laugh. “You’ll have to take away my communication devices if you’re going to actually put me in solitary, Captain.”He scowls, but there’s still a bit of worry and anxiety lingering around him. Emma can almost see it. She might actually be able to see it.

“What the…” she starts, reaching out towards the tip of his ear and the side of his neck and she knows she doesn’t imagine the way he shudders when the tips of her fingers brush his skin. “Did you feel that?”Killian nods. “Aye.”“Did you–have you always been able to feel that?”Silence. Emma tries not to be frustrated by that. She’s more frustrated with whatever that one pillow is doing to her spine anyway.

“Babe,” she prompts, and his lips quirk in response. “Have you always been able to feel my magic?”

“Not at first.”“But?”“But,” Killian echoes. “Uh…after Zelena. When it–when it was gone, it was a bit like being thrown off course.”“The nautical puns have got to stop.”He rolls his eyes, shifting closer to her until his forehead rests on hers. “I thought I felt it in the past, before you got it back. When–”“–Dancing,” Emma finishes, Killian pulling back to gape at her. The blush in her cheeks is almost pleasantly warm. “Is it a Navy thing? Honestly.”“Is what a Navy thing?”She rolls her whole head – which only serves to make Killian widen his eyes in reproach, but that was also kind of the goal and she’s missed flirting for the sake of flirting. They’re really good at flirting with each other. “It totally freaked me out the first time you did it,” Emma continues. “You were going on about magic holes in Neverland and nothing and you just…you offered me your arm and I–”“–Took it,” Killian finishes. “If memory serves.”“Yeah, I did.”He chuckles softly, ducking his head to kiss her and it’s not enough. It’s not ever, but now there’s time to try and get there. That’s nice.

That’s better than nice.

“We were always told to offer your lady your arm,” he says, low and intent. His eyebrows jump again when Emma’s magic practically roars. “The Royal Navy was very fond of propriety.”“Your lady, huh?”“Hmmm?”“Not all the ladies?”“Is that a note of jealousy I hear, Swan?”“Confirmation.”

Killian nods, lower lip jutted out slightly and that only makes it easier to nip at it. “Lady,” he says. “Singular. The Royal Navy frowned on flirting quite a bit.”“A shame when you’re so good at it.”“And that, my love, sounds a bit like a compliment.”Emma can’t help the smile that stretches across her face – the rush of warmth that runs from her head to her toes, moving into her fingertips and lingering in the spaces around her heart. She’s getting out this bed. Today.

“Might have been,” she shrugs, if only to make his eyes flash. It works. They’re very good at flirting. “I’m really not going back to sleep, you know.”“Figured as much.”“Then…”He kisses her before she can make any more veiled allusions to other things the Royal Navy would very likely disapprove of. The pillow stops bothering her when they knock it on the floor.

And it’s not that much later, only a few clothes back on, with the sheets twisted around them when Emma announces we’re going to Granny’s and she’s even less surprised that Killian tells her that was half the reason he came in the room in the first place.

“Your mother called,” he explains. “Said there was a plan and something about Friday night.”He’s already standing up, running his fingers through his hair in a way that probably isn’t supposed to be distracting. The magic in Emma’s center jumps.

It makes Killian grin.

“That’s not fair at all,” Emma grumbles, a lie they’re both only too aware of. She holds her hand out, willing herself not to react when he takes it, but that’s a losing battle and they only win those in this household.

This family.

They’re a family.

“Your highness,” Killian says with a smirk, and Henry gags when they steal kisses on the walk to Granny’s, arms twisted and the future laid out at their feet.

[doodlelolly0910]

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

A/N: Sorry this is updating so late in the evening! I've had a super busy day! I'm not going to say much about this chapter, just that it's another turning point :P As always, thank you to @kmomof4 for her fabulous beta skills and for generally being an awesome person, and to @courtorderedcake for making the AMAZING artwork for this fic. Also thanks to you, lovely readers! I appreciate and adore you all! Hope you like the new chapter!

Chapter 15

Water sluiced over Emma's body in hot rivulets, working the weariness from her muscles and bones. The water had finally stopped pooling a brownish red at her feet as it washed away the blood on her skin and hair, now running clear. Milah's presence had died down after the discussion earlier. It must have been exhausting to remain at that level of contact for so long. Most encounters didn't even last a fraction of that time. And frankly, Emma was quite ready for a break. It was nice to have some privacy, especially since she wasn't even safe from Milah inside her head, although it seemed she only picked up on thoughts that she intended to speak but didn't.

Emma wasn't sure how long she'd been standing under the stream of seemingly unending hot water, but she was fully intent on taking advantage of the moment before she had to dive headfirst back into the craziness that had become her life.

Jefferson had heard about the explosion and connected the dots. He had been furious, demanding that Emma return to base, threatening to call Regina and pull the plug, but she had begged a week out of him. A week with Hook, working the angle they'd come up with. He was adamant that this was the worst idea she'd ever come up with, especially since Emma refused to provide him with Hook's identity (in the poorly concealed guise that she simply did not know it), but at least she didn't have to hide her new alliance from him.

Well, she may not have told him that her cover was blown where Hook was concerned, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. This was about Gold. Taking him down, once and for all. Both of them understood what calling off this op meant.

This was their Hail Mary.

She cranked the water off when her legs grew tired of standing, drying herself with a scratchy terry cloth towel, and moving to stand in front of the sink. There was a dingy mirror there and she wiped the steam from it to survey her appearance. She looked like shit.

Bruises mottled her skin, concentrated especially where she had collided full force with the earth on her hip and shoulder. Her head still felt like her heart was pounding directly inside it, but at least the nausea and blurred vision had died down. The ringing in her ears remained, though, a result of being so close to the explosion. Dark circles ringed her eyes, betraying exactly how much sleep she'd gotten in the last two weeks since this all started.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Swan?” Killian's voice asked gently through the thin particle board. “I have some clothes for you.”

Emma wrapped the towel around her, covering herself, and cracked the door. Hook's grin immediately widened at the sight of her, his eyes unabashedly raking over her barely concealed form and she rolled her eyes, snatching the bundle of fabric from his arm and slamming the door in his face again.

“No need for hostility, love,” his muffled voice teased. “Just appreciating the view.”

“You're about to appreciate my foot right up your ass,” she shot back, dropping the towel and aggressively yanking on the over large sweats he had given her, her muscles protesting the movement, and rolled them at the waist as they were about two sizes too big for her. She put her bra back on and pulled the (also too big) gray t-shirt over her head, hearing him chuckle on the other side of the thin barrier between them.

“If you say so, Swan,” he patronized, sounding slightly further away than before. Emma bristled at that, gathering her ruined clothes and flinging the door open with force, making it rattle on its hinges. She stomped her way into the small bedroom like room until she was standing in front of where he'd moved next to the queen sized bed.

“Let's get one thing straight, buddy,” she said, pointing a vicious finger in his amused face. “I'm here to do a job. Nothing else. So you can keep on looking, but this,” she motioned between them with her finger, “not gonna happen. Okay?”

Hook's expression didn't waver for a moment, holding her gaze so she could see the laughter dancing within the blue depths of his eyes.

“You're rather fetching when you're angry, has anyone ever told you that?”

Emma let out a noise that was half growl, half screech in exasperation and pushed past him, dropping her clothes with the rest of her things. She glanced at her gun and wondered briefly exactly how terrible it would be if it accidentally went off in the direction of his foot before retrieving the comb he'd set out for her and gingerly pulling the snarls from her towel dried hair. She braided her hair and tied it off with a rubber band she'd found sitting on the table next to the bed and sat on the mattress with a bounce, Killian's eyes on her the whole time.

“Okay, when I said you could keep looking, I didn't expect you to take it literally,” she said, not even turning to look at him.

“I'm a very literal person, Swan,” he replied lightly, moving towards her. “Are you almost ready to go? We'll stop by a shop I know and get you some clothes that fit, not that it doesn't speak to the primal male in me to see you in mine, and then we will get some supplies together.”

Emma stiffened and fought the urge to tilt her chin down to sniff the fabric covering her body to see if it smelled like him. Of course it would. She was in his damn clothes. He did this on purpose. She just knew he did.

“Yup,” she said, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word. “Let's go.”

Emma was grateful that either Will or Killian had had the foresight to drive her car back to the compound. She needed to be the one that drove, needed to feel a little more in control. Less than an hour later, they were in a consignment shop in a quaint little part of the city that Emma had rarely been to. Of course it would be a second hand shop. Two spirits on the regular weren't enough to deal with.

“Time to make it a party, I guess,” Emma muttered under her breath and got out of the car. Killian was already waiting for her on the curb, his blue eyes watching her as she struggled not to wince getting out of her seat. She adjusted her oversized clothing and made her way towards him. She really needed to tell him what to expect in a place like this.

“Ready, Swan?” His voice interrupted her nervous thoughts and she blinked up at him, fighting the urge to chew on her nail.

“Uh, in just a minute. Before we go in there, this is a second hand shop, right?” she asked.

“Aye,” he replied, his brow furrowing as he tried to follow her train of thought. Emma bobbed her head once and looked down to her feet.

“Do you remember how I said Milah found me?”

“Something about a shirt? Wasn't it?”

“Ah, yes. Yep. See, I kinda have a thing about places like this. Sometimes the clothes that are donated belonged to people… well, people only I can talk to anymore…” she trailed off.

“Oh,” Killian replied, slightly surprised as he put the pieces of the puzzle together. “And these things are like a… trigger? When you're near them?”

Emma shook her head. “It isn't usually enough to be near them. I have to touch it. And suddenly I can see and hear things that no one else can. It's a little unsettling. And I've never experienced it with someone who, uh, knows about it.”

Hook seemed to weigh her words in his head, as if he were plotting the best course of action here. A slow, easy smile slipped onto his lips and he reached for her hand, tucking it into the crook of his bad arm and taking Emma completely by surprise.

“Well, I'll just have to touch the clothes first until you find something you like. We are shopping for knickers, aye?”

Emma snatched her arm back and slapped his shoulder, although it didn't come off nearly as aggressive as she wanted it to. She knew he was teasing and the thought of him handling her underwear… well, it was time to change the subject.

She marched past him, chin tilted up, and swung the door to the shop open. She gestured inside, allowing him to enter first with a mocking bow, mimicking his previous gesture from the compound.

Clothes shopping was a lot more fun with Hook than it was with Ruby, she found. He had made some genuinely helpful selections for her perusal, making it so she didn't even need to touch anything until she was sure she liked it. She didn't know how much she appreciated the gesture until it was actually happening.

It was a little strange how quickly Hook had flipped from staunch skeptic to making adjustments in his own behavior to accommodate for her “gift”, but it touched her in a way that no one else had been able to. She watched him as he jokingly held up items against his own chest on hangers, his tongue poking teasingly out of the corner of his mouth and laughed along with his jokes (even if her laughter was accompanied by a patented eye roll). She felt an overwhelming sense of comfort as they shopped and she was surprised to find the walls she had carefully constructed around her heart over the years slipping just the slightest bit. Killian Jones was unlike any man she had ever met, and, at least in this moment, she was glad to have him with her.

In the end, Emma ended up picking out two tank tops, a t-shirt, a sweater, and a pair of jeans and leggings, none of which (thankfully) sparked an encounter. Much to Killian's dismay, she did not get any underwear, but then she reminded him that they were in a second hand shop and, while they only accepted new in package items on that front, it was just a little much for her to consider.

“Does this mean you'll be going commando, then, Swan?” he murmured in her ear as they approached the cash register, his hand finding the small of her back with ease.

“Wouldn't you like to know,” she said with a bat of her eyelashes and she smirked as Killian's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

“Perhaps I would.” She heard him murmur as she approached the smiling red headed girl behind the counter. She flushed, her steady gait faltering for a moment, but she recovered herself quickly and smiled back at the cashier, loading her items on the counter.

“That'll be $38.57,” she said, packing the items into a bag for her. Emma dug in the pocket of her borrowed sweats for the money she had put there, extending the cash over the counter. The clerk's fingers swept over Emma's, the silver ring on her middle finger swiping over the flesh of her palm and Emma knew it was coming before it even happened.

Suddenly, she smelled fresh gingerbread and heard a voice she didn't recognize humming a song.

I love you, Addie, the voice said and Emma froze, her eyes blowing wide and she fought back the sudden shaking in her palm as she reached for her change.

“Have a good day!” the girl chirped, completely clueless to the inner turmoil Emma was having. Emma gave her a tight smile and said nothing, snatching the bag off the counter and bolting for the door as quickly as she could without looking completely mental.

She burst from the door and the encounter had all but faded away, the last remnants of baked goods still lingering in her sinuses, but she knew it, too, would be gone soon. She took several deep, calming breaths in the fresh air and let her heart rate return to normal.

“Swan?”

Killian. Shit.

She'd forgotten he was with her for a moment in her panic and she felt her heartbeat kick back up at the thought of having to explain her behavior to him.

Best to get it over with.

“Yeah?” she asked, turning to face him, her hands balled into fists at her side, making the plastic of the bag in her left hand crinkle.

“Are you alright, love? Did one of your… er… moments happen?” His voice was truly concerned and, instead of calming her, it only freaked her out more.

She nodded sharply, not meeting his eyes. “I think it was the clerk's grandmother maybe? I touched her ring,” she explained.

“That's…” here it comes, Emma thought, “amazing, love. Why didn't you tell her?”

If Emma's jaw could physically touch the pavement, she was positive it would have been scraping the concrete right about then. Killian was looking at her with such curiosity and fascination that it sent a thread of panic straight through her.

“Why didn't I tell her? Are you serious right now? What happened to ‘not this bit again’?” she snapped. Hook sighed.

“Look, Swan, I know I haven't been the most supportive of your… talents, and I won't deny that it is quite a shock to hear that someone you loved very much is still trying to reach you from the other side, but I…” he tapered off, stepping slightly closer to her and Emma held her breath. “If I can start to believe, anyone can. You can't expect people to believe you if you never tell anyone. You should tell her.” His eyes blazed into hers, willing her to take a leap of faith in herself, as he was with her.

Emma was sure she was going mad. Or he was. Maybe both of them.

"I am not a walking freak show! I'm not Sylvia fucking Browne, I'm not some foofy bullshit psychic bitch, and I just want to be left alone,” she ranted, flapping her arms at her sides. “I never asked to be this person. I just want to live my life! You have no idea what it’s like to feel crazy day in and day out, never knowing who you can trust enough to tell and I-"

Emma's mouth was still trying to move, spill over with reasons why, but it was hard to do with Killian's lips sealed against hers. She was shocked still, arms suspended mid air, interrupted in their wild gesturing, her mind overwhelmed with the thought of how perfect, how right this felt, and that was absolutely besides the point because Killian fucking Jones was kissing her. Her body finally caught up with what was happening and she pulled back, but his hooked arm had looped itself around her waist and held her fast to him.

"Please, darling, do shut up," he murmured only mere centimeters from her lips before her stunned psyche could formulate a response to the kiss at all. She felt anger boil in the pit of her stomach as she registered what he'd said, the sensation mixing with the fear and attraction already simmering there.

"You shut up," she growled, then fisted her hand in his shirt and slammed her lips back into his.

Kissing Killian Jones was unlike any other experience she had ever had in her life. His lips were softer than she expected, moving with expert precision over hers, his hand wrapping around the nape of her neck as his thumb stroked over her jawline. He nipped at her bottom lip and she opened for him on instinct, gasping at the first touch of his tongue to hers. He let out a soft little sound in the back of his throat that she might have missed, had they not been pressed so tightly together, and he tilted her head with a firm but gentle press of his fingers at her neck to kiss her more deeply. He kissed her like he would never get enough, stealing the very breath from her lungs until she felt like they were going to burst.

She pulled back when the need for oxygen became too much, still clinging to his collar like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Based on the slight sway in her balance when she broke away, it probably was. They stayed in each other's space in silence, save for the sound of their panting breaths intermingling in the air.

"That was..." Killian began, sounding completely wrecked. Emma released his collar and stepped back, blinking up at him and hopefully clearing some of the haze from her eyes. He looked just as wrecked as he sounded, his hooded eyes simmering with a dark heat, and she was sure she wasn't hiding her reaction all that well either. She needed to shut this down.

"Me shutting you up,” she filled in for him. He appeared confused for a moment and then a look of understanding swept over his features that made her heart clench tighter than it already was. “Let's get back."

She turned and began a stiff walk back to her car before she heard his soft murmur towards her retreating form.

“As you wish, Swan.”