#if Liam looks into someone’s eyes he had the ability to see how they’ll die and that often also meant when if it was soon enough | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

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One Foot In (4/7)

The facts were these.

Killian Jones was dead. This much Emma knew, standing in the middle of the funeral parlor staring at him. What she didn’t know was why. Or how. Or what she would do when she touched him.

Because Emma Swan had a gift. Touch a dead thing once, bring it back to life. Touch it again, dead forever.

And the last thing Emma could do was bring Killian back to life, talk to him for the first time in years, only to watch him die all over again. Not when she’d spent the better part of those same years being in love with him.

—–

Rating: Teen, but eventually they’re going to kiss Word Count: 9.3K and I seriously don’t remember writing all of this AN: This is the part where we kind of deviate from Pushing Daisies (although there are some jokes from other episodes) and move into magic and meaningful conversations and it’s going to get relatively exciting from here on out. I hope, at least. Thanks for reading this. I think you guys are swell.

@shireness-says @optomisticgirl @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488, @greymeetsblue, @jennjenn615, @heavenlyjoycastle, @klynn-stormz, @superchocovian, @onepunintendid, @jonesfandomfanatic, @lfh1226-linda

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam. Or, you can take it from the top.

—–

Emma Swan is twenty-nine years, six months, twenty-three days and, approximately, twelve hours and forty-two minutes old when her shoulder is nearly ripped out of her socket.

“Ow, jeez, what the hell, Ruby?” she hisses, gaping at her partner as soon as she tightens her hold on Emma’s wrist. “My health insurance is garbage. I can’t get injured here.” “Don’t you think we could sue the town of Storybrooke? I think you’re technically on city hall property at this point.” “Town hall,” Killian corrects. He’s leaning against the back door of Emma’s car, feet crossed at the ankle again which is only kind of infuriating in the way it makes Emma’s heart jump, but he’s also got a pinch between his eyebrows that wasn’t there when they left the restaurant.

It’s because Emma made him sit in the backseat.

And Ruby agreed.

His arsenal of curses has gotten far more creative in the past two decades. One of the more nautical ones even made Ruby blush.

Emma didn’t think she was capable of that.

“Storybrooke is a town,” he continues when Ruby quirks a vaguely annoyed eyebrow in his direction. “If you want to get technical. The state of Maine is weird like that. Anything can really be a town, but a city has to be incorporated by a special act of the state legislature.” “Why do you know that?” Emma asks. “And, really? Anything can be a city? There’s not like...a population requirement.” “Usually. But Maine’s a strange place with strange laws and as discussed before, I’ve read some things in the last few years.” “That includes the requirements for a city to be formed?” “Incorporated.” “What a ridiculous word.” Killian hums, but the pinch between his eyebrows is still there and he looks a little cautious. Or nervous. That’s really the word for it. He looks nervous, as if whatever they’ll find out from Cora Mills at the Storybrooke Town Hall is going to change everything.

Ruby still hasn’t let go of Emma’s wrist.

Emma is slightly concerned about the blood flow to her hand.

“The specifics of any of this could not possibly matter less,” Ruby hisses. “Jones, I need you to take a walk towards those very high bushes.” The pinch between his eyebrows is never going to disappear. “Excuse me?” “Did none of these encyclopedias you’ve read teach you how the English language works?” “Why do you think I was reading encyclopedias?” “Were you not?” “I mean,” he shrugs, “maybe at one point. Nemo had some really old ones that were mostly focused on the naval history of the world, but those weren’t very interesting and the pages were really fragile and—” “I do not care,” Ruby shouts, and Emma blinks at the absolute acid in her voice. She tries to yank her arm back to her side, but that works as well as trying to understand the absurd inner-workings of the Maine census bureau and only ends with Emma elbowing herself in the ribs. Ruby huffs dramatically, lips pursed. “A walk,” she repeats. “Towards those bushes where, presumably no one can see you and realize you’re breathing.” “Why are we yelling this?” Emma mumbles. Ruby’s answering glare could probably melt several thousand diamonds.

Her grip could certainly crack them.

And Emma isn’t really sure what’s changed in the car ride from her restaurant to the Storybrooke Town Hall, but there had been a lot of cursing and mumbling about acting like I’m a little kid and sounds like Liam and that second one had made her breath catch in her throat and Ruby was always very good at reading her face.

Which she could see perfectly. From the front seat of Emma’s car.

Oh, damn.

“Maybe just one second,” Emma says, glancing at Killian to find him staring at her like it’s the first time he’s ever seen her. Ruby squeezes her nails into Emma’s wrist. “Or,” she amends. “Like thirteen seconds. Just...to come up with a plan of attack.” Killian clicks his teeth at that, eyebrows lifting, which doesn’t do much to help the very obvious whatever that settles on every inch of his face – something that looks like surprise and feels like disappointment and the buzzing in between Emma’s ears sputters into nothing. He’s chewing on the side of his tongue, a nervous habit he picked up when he was seven and Liam let them watch Friday the 13th on Halloween with the lights off and enough candy to make Emma regret her distinct lack of dental insurance again.

“Huh,” he mutters, barely audible over the sounds of the town.

They’re familiar sounds – a few cars and some kid riding their bike because it’s August and there’s a hint of humidity in the air that’s already starting to make the ends of Emma’s hair curl. She can hear an ice cream truck a few blocks away and mosquitos and someone needs to get their air conditioner checked out because it can’t be good for it to be that noisy.

Emma shifts awkwardly on her feet, trying, and failing, again, to regain control of her right arm, but Ruby must have been a wrestler in another life because she’s got some kind of choke-hold and, clearly, no intention of letting go.

“It’s just thirteen seconds,” Emma says, but her voice sounds like the lie it is and her own nerves are obvious in every single syllable. Killian’s lips twist.

“At least. For your plan of attack.” “We just...you know, we like to be prepared going into stuff like this.” “Murder investigations.” “Well, to be fair, I’m not usually dealing with people who are alive. We’ve got more time and I don’t want to, you know, waste that.” “Seems impossible when you’re used to only a minute,” Killian says, and Emma is single-handedly digging herself into the world’s biggest ditch. She’s a little worried Ruby’s nails have cut her arm.

“You don’t actually have to stand in the bushes.” Ruby scoffs, her own mumbled curses, and Killian’s lips twitch. “I had no intention of standing in the bushes. You better attack though, Swan. Lucas looks like she’s growing talons.” “Claws, honestly.” “I am standing right here,” Ruby seethes.

Emma shrugs, glancing over her shoulder and she hadn’t realized she’d moved away from Ruby. Or closer to Killian. Honestly she’s going to write a twenty-seven page research paper on the possibility of magnets in the real world and how goddamn inconvenient they are.

“And whose fault is that?” Emma asks. “Alright, I really do have garbage health insurance, so if we could avoid bodily harm before we deal with a maybe murderer, that’d be great. C’mon.”

She, finally, regains control of her arm, moving a few feet down the sidewalk and leaving Killian with the car and the anxiety practically radiating off him.

And, really, Emma has every intention of controlling the conversation from the get-go, a determination that’s almost impressive because she’s having a very difficult time remembering to breathe consistently, but then Ruby is in front of her and the sun appears to be reflecting off the highlights in her hair and she’s doing that foot tapping thing.

Emma hates that foot tapping thing.

“Is this where you yell?” Emma asks, Ruby already shaking her head.

“No, this is where I do the asking several very important questions and you tell me the God’s honest truth or I swear to God I will push you in traffic.” “In traffic?” “Is that not threatening enough?”

Emma makes a contradictory noise in the back of her throat. “I feel like people would probably stop their cars. Or I’d still have the ability to dodge. I think I could dodge.” “Your reflexes are not that good,” Ruby promises. “And we are wasting time. Also, do you think Jones knows how to read lips?” “I’ve got no idea.” “What do you know about him?” The question seems unfairly large to start with, but Emma’s got a sinking suspicion that’s not actually one of Ruby’s questions and the weight of disappointment that settles in her gut at the realization that she may not actually have an answer is somewhere close to horrendous.

“Your silence is overwhelming.” Emma blinks, trying to push impossible tears back in their ducts and she’s going to chew her lower lip in half before the day is over. “It’s not...ok, I know that’s not what you wanted to ask, so can we get to the point of this—” “—No, no, I wanted to ask that. Because I think there’s some seriously shady things happening here and a group of goons on some tourist cruise who call some other dude master is a little terrifying, don’t you think?” “I don’t think Killian was working for that guy.” “Do you know that for sure? Can you know that for sure?” Emma bites her lip again. There’s blood in her mouth. It’s disgusting. And Ruby sighs. “All I’m saying is maybe we should be careful and I…” She exhales, eyes going dangerously thin and Emma braces herself for the riot act. What she gets is almost worse. “Are you in love with him? Is it that brand of stupid?”

Emma’s right knee gives out. Only her right one. It’s kind of weird, but that seems to just be the sub-headline of her life now. And, at least, she doesn’t fall down.

So, comparatively…

“No,” Emma says, but the word feels heavy and incorrect and Ruby’s head tilt is almost vibrating with judgment. “No.” “No?”

“No.” “I’m going to tell you that I don’t believe you, but—” “—I killed his brother.”

The words fly out of Emma’s mouth, her eyes widening with her own surprise and the noise Ruby makes is not of this world. It sounds like an alien has settled into her body and realized what a god awful race humans are and then decided, unequivocally, that Emma is the worst of the worst and is now desperate to get off this planet.

The greenhouse gasses are pretty horrible anyway. That’s probably Emma’s fault too.

Ruby brings both her hands to her temples, blinking far too quickly to be anything except jarring and Emma is running out of lip to bite. She moves to her cheek.

“Ok, hold on a second,” Ruby mutters. “That is...when? Recently? I thought he said his brother died when he was ten.” “He did.” “And?” “And what? I…” Emma trails off, yanking on the ends of her humidity-ruined hair. They are going way over their thirteen-second limit. “The very short story is that the EMTs said Ingrid suffered a brain hemorrhage. Incredibly rare, immediately fatal and I...didn’t know that. So—” “—Oh my God, you touched her,” Ruby finishes. This is not the first time she’s heard this particular part of the story. Emma nods. “And that meant that…” Her hand flies to her mouth, but it doesn’t do much to silence the gasp she makes. Emma swats at both of her arms, desperate to quiet her or silence whatever guilt is bouncing around her skull and neither thing works. She can feel Killian casting curious glances their direction.

“I am going to push you in traffic,” Emma warns. “And you will trip over your own heels.” Ruby scowls, absurd with her hand still plastered over her mouth. “You are questionably obsessed with my fashion choices. But Ingrid died. That’s why you had to leave Storybrooke.” “I know. But, ok, you cannot make any noise, do you understand me?” Ruby nods slowly, and there will probably be handprint marks smearing her lipstick. “I came into the kitchen and Ingrid was dead. Sudden and real and I was nine. I didn’t think...I just reacted and then she was alive and I was so happy, but then...well, the universe is a dick and—” Emma can’t bring herself to finish.

The tears on her cheeks are distracting.

Ruby pulls her hand away from her mouth – lipstick somehow in place, which is actually almost comforting – wrapping her fingers around Emma’s wrist in a way that’s even more comforting. “Does he know?”

Emma shakes her head. “No. I didn’t know at first. I had no idea what the rules were or are and I wasn’t trying to do that. I...I loved Liam too and he was so good for Killian and Killian...oh, he idolized him. But then I was leaving and he kept saying I was going to come back and—” “—You didn’t ever come back.” “No.”

“Did you want to?” “Every single day.” Ruby exhales through her teeth, and they’re all going to need extensive dental work by the time this is over. “Ok, so, uh...that leads us almost directly to my number one, top of the list, most important question of all time. Who died to make sure Killian Jones didn’t?” “I have no idea,” Emma admits, those particular words far more difficult to say than a secret she’d like to kept under metaphorical lock and key for the rest of her mortal life.

“Yeah, I figured you were going to say something horrible like that. How does that even work? Is it an age thing? Does it have to be relatively similar.” Emma shrugs. “I think it’s a general proximity thing.” “I was like twenty feet away from you!”

“I wasn’t really thinking,” Emma reasons. “That’s not an excuse, it’s just a fact. I would have been upset if you died.” “Wow, your charity is overwhelming, Em. You know what, I’m going to take all of your reward. Screw that. I didn’t realize I was playing with fire here.” “Metaphorically, I guess.” Ruby kicks at her ankle, nose scrunched. “You make jokes when you're nervous. It’s a coping mechanism.” She grits her teeth, more exaggerated breathing that Emma supposes is warranted in the moment. “And you know what this means?”

“Should I?” “There’s another body somewhere with no reasonable explanation for its death.” Emma’s left knee gives out. “Oh, well, shit.” “That’s eloquent.” “You have something better to suggest?” “Nah,” Ruby says, a grin that feels wholly out of place in a conversation filled with so much death. Emma wishes there weren’t always so much death involved. “But I bet if you ask your boyfriend he’d be able to help. I think he was using some pirate ones before. He seems like a practical treasure trove of frustrated curses.” “Are you making jokes now?” Ruby shrugs, hand moving to Emma’s shoulder. “It’s an observation. And you didn’t contradict boyfriend, just for the record or whatever.” “I don’t have time to be worried about antiquated relationship qualifiers,” Emma mumbles, but the butterflies in her stomach have returned and she wants to know every single thing Killian has learned in the last two decades.

She really doesn’t want to tell him she killed his brother.

On accident.

Kind of.

She wouldn’t mind kissing him again.

“Yeah, sure you don’t,” Ruby laughs. “Alright, well, we’ve got a serious check-list of things we need to accomplish before anyone else realizes we’re trying to accomplish them. No time like the present, right?”

She’s gone before Emma can begin to formulate a response – a twist of red and hair that doesn’t appear prone to humidity and a very particular shine to her shoes that Emma is almost certain she’s developed on her own.

And Killian is exactly where they left him.

He licks his lips as soon as his eyes dart towards Emma, eyebrows raised in silent question. They’d always been very good at that, silent communication that used to drive Ingrid and Liam insane in equal measure until Liam threw his whole head back and taught them morse code so they could at least learn something practical and they used to flash lights at each other from across the street when they were supposed to be asleep.

“Everything alright?” he asks, and Emma makes a noise that is the audible version of the worst lie she’s ever told. “That so?” “I didn’t actually say anything.” “Yeah, you didn’t really have to, did you?” “The mind reading thing isn’t nearly as cute as you think it is.” The tongue stuff has got to stop. It means Emma keeps thinking about Killian’s tongue and that’s a dangerous line of thought and maybe they should get him some new clothes. Seeing him in the clothes he was supposed to be buried in is disconcerting.

“So you think I’m dreamy and cute?” Killian asks, pushing off the car at the same time his eyebrows defy several laws of gravity. Emma swallows. She wonders how much it would hurt to have to get stitches in her lip. “That’s quite a tandem don’t you think?”

“I think you’re way too confident for your own good and it’s going to get us in trouble.” “What other trouble could I possibly get into, Swan? I’ve already been dead once in the last forty-eight hours, seems to cover most of my bases doesn’t it?” Emma sighs. “Can you pull your hat down? There’s too much of your hair showing.”

He does as asked, tugging with almost too much force. “No one is going to notice me,” Killian says, a promise he can’t possibly make in the middle of a town that knows far too much about both of them. “It’s the middle of the day, anyway. Cora’s probably the only person in the building. You know how she hates to delegate, works through lunch and—” “Yeah, uh,” Ruby interrupts, moving back towards the sidewalk and Emma hadn’t even realized she’d gone into the building. “No one’s really doing anything with lunch in there. Or doing much of anything. At all.” “What does that mean?” Emma asks.

“This creepy Cora? She’d likely be at a desk that says mayor on a very fancy plaque? Dark hair? Suit that costs more than my yearly rent?” Killian nods. “All of the above.” “Yeah, she’s very dead.” Both of Emma’s knees give out – and she knows Killian moves, an immediate reaction that is equal parts dreamy and cute and absolutely impossible because she’s not wearing nearly enough clothing and there are rules and he can’t catch her.

She stumbles forward, balance no more than almost precarious as Ruby’s fingers curl around her elbow. “Deep breaths, Em. It’s fine. It’s...you know, it’s fine.” “That was almost as bad as Swan,” Killian mumbles, arm still outstretched like he’ll be able to do something. It takes them all a moment to realize it’s his left arm. He grimaces as soon as his eyes land on the skin there, the sleeve of his shirt hanging over the edge and Emma wants a lot more than she should ever be allowed to even consider, but more than anything she wants to pull his arm into her hands and hold him there and promise it will be ok because he’s ok and it doesn’t matter, none of it matters, them or him or whatever they may be dealing with in the moment, because he looks at her like nothing is wrong.

He looks at her like he’s been hoping to find her every single day he’s woken up and it’s a feeling Emma understands and wants and maybe Ruby is right.

That’s kind of annoying.

Emma hates when Ruby is right. She’s a bad sport about it.

“Did it...well, what do we do?” Killian continues.

Ruby grins. “What we normally do.” “You want to—” He glances at Emma, mouth hanging open. She tries to smile. It fails miserably. “Oh, yeah, ok,” Killian nods, sounding as if he’s trying to convince himself. “Is that ok, Swan?”

She wishes things would stop surprising her. It can’t possibly be good for her blood pressure or the apparently shoddy state of her knees. But he says it with such sincerity and that hat looks absolutely ridiculous, makes the slight point of ears Emma always teased him about when they were little even more obvious, and he keeps having to push the sunglasses they found in the glove compartment up.

Emma nods brusquely. “Yeah, of course. I mean...that’s what you were saying before, right? This is kind of my schtick.” “That’s not what I meant. I just...you were plotting.” “I wasn’t plotting without you.” “That’s not what it looked like.” “Ok, we genuinely do not have time for this,” Ruby says, cutting in before Emma can say something absurdly sentimental and decidedly out of place for what has just become another crime scene. “We have negative amount of time for this. Let’s go talk to creepy Cora Mills and get the hell out of here before someone realizes the lurker in the weird hat is dead.” “He’s not dead,” Emma growls, but Ruby just waves her hands in her face and nods as if that word isn’t kind of offensive.

Killian smiles at her. “It is a kind of weird hat though, Swan.” “It’s not a weird hat! And you’re not dead. Can we please stop using that word? It’s--it’s messing with my head and, like, my lungs and—” “—You’ve got to breathe, love.” “How are you so calm about this?”

They’re frozen in the doorway of the Storybrooke Town Hall, far too close and not close enough. Ruby is tapping her heel on marble tile now. “I’m not,” Killian says with an ease that belies the look on his face. “I’m frustrated and annoyed and pissed off. At the world and Cora Mills and goons one through six and kind of at you for never coming back because I always wanted you to come back and I wondered and—” She can see every single one of his teeth when he cuts himself off, and Emma wishes he’d stop doing that, but she figures it’s kind of unfair to demand proper sentence structure at this point.

“I was dead, Swan,” he says, expression softening when Emma makes a face. “That’s a fact. But then you showed up and changed that and I...well, I wasn’t...if this is as dangerous as it might be then I don’t want anything to happen to you.” “Oh.” It’s the worst response. It’s an absolutely lame response, but Emma’s always been a little worried that she’s missing some fundamental piece of her empathy chip and she twists her arms behind her back again to stop herself from touching him.

“Oh?” “Oh,” Emma repeats, whatever disgusted sound Ruby makes at their distinct lack of conversational progress bouncing off the far too ostentatious walls around them. “I—well, that was kind of nice.” “That was kind of the goal.” “Right. Right, well, mission accomplished, I guess. And, uh...that hat came from a baking contest a couple years ago.” “You were in a baking contest?” “You were making jokes about award-winning pie, but it’s almost true. The five-berry one was described as something close to life-changing.” “Seems to be a trend,” Killian mutters. He moves his hand again, a quick brush of fingertips over the curve of Emma’s shoulder and he shakes his head as soon as she tries to tell him to stop that, God. “That was the last time. Just...making sure.” Emma doesn’t have to ask what he means – knows he’s making sure she’s there and real and this would almost make more sense if it were some very lucid dream. But she figures she wouldn't want to torture herself even in a dream and Emma’s inability to touch a guy she maybe hopes could be referred to as her boyfriend in regular conversation is something she’ll have to contend with eventually. Once they solve his murder and the trail of bodies that seem to be piling up behind him.

“Let’s go,” Ruby groans from the other end of the hallway.

“It’s not like Cora’s getting up and walking away,” Emma mutters, working a laugh out of Killian.

“At least not yet. C’mon, love, I’d rather Cora’s assistant didn’t find us while we were in the middle of this.”

Cora Mills, mayor of Storybrooke since, quite possibly, the dawn of time, looks almost exactly the way Emma remembers her.

There’s more gray to her hair, a few more wrinkles around her eyes, but she’s still got an air of superiority around her that sets Emma’s teeth on edge. Her suit definitely cost a ridiculous amount of money and the manicure looks nearly immaculate – except on her right hand. It’s not the whole thing, but three of her fingers are missing nails and—

“Oh my God, Cora Mills gets acrylic nails,” Emma laughs.

“Is that a clue of some sort?” Killian asks, earning more laughter for more sincerity and it is really getting very difficult not to hold his hand.

“Ah, I like that you said clues. And, no, well, maybe, but...I guess it’s just funny. Acrylic nails are so...tacky.” “Ok, that’s not true at all,” Ruby argues. She’s already picking her way through piles of paperwork, a determined look on her face that usually ends in several stacks of bills untraceable by the IRS. “These aren’t just acrylic. They’re gel and hard gel at that.” “I feel like she’s speaking in code,” Killian says, perched on the edge of Cora’s desk.

Emma lifts her eyebrows. “Should you be up there?” “What’s she going to do to stop me?” “Jesus,” Ruby growls. “The flirting is honestly disgusting. Also, I am not speaking in code. I am speaking in spa.” “What’s the difference?” “The difference is that hard gel eventually becomes, as its name implies, hard enough to basically be an extension of the nail. Getting those off is some kind of serious bitch. You’ve got to be totally committed to the color.” “None of this makes sense,” Emma fumes, bobbing on her feet and she’s unreasonably nervous to touch a dead person in front of Killian. “Can I just touch her so we can get out of here?” Ruby doesn’t look up from the papers she’s leafing through when she answers. “No one is stopping you, but you’re missing a very important point.” “You lord information over other people when you want to feel in control of a situation.” “And why do you think might I feel out of control in this particular situation?” “Oh, shit, no I get it,” Killian says, jumping off the desk with enough enthusiasm that Emma is really starting to wonder if time travel is possible. “Fuck, that’s not great, is it?” “We won’t know until Emma touches her.” Emma rolls her whole head. “What am I missing?” “Lucas is right, we won’t know until Cora tells us, but,” Killian starts, grinning like a maniac who just discovered what was underneath that one man hole on Main Street, “If hard gel requires a commitment to the color scheme, that means it would take one hell of a fight to pull the nails off, right?” Ruby nods, something that feels like PI pride hanging off her shoulders. “And that means that Cora didn’t just die under natural circumstances.” “I kind of figured that part was obvious considering your rather untimely murder,” Ruby muses. “But I wasn’t sure there was a fight until I noticed Madam Mayor’s rather grimy hands. She didn’t go down quietly.” “If you knew Cora, you’d understand that’s very in character.” “Well, I feel as if it’s time for me to meet the great and powerful Oz.” “That wasn’t funny,” Emma mumbles. Ruby laughs anyway. “Alright,” she huffs, jumping up and down as if that will work out her influx of nervous energy. Killian smirks at her. “I am nervous about this with you here.” “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” Ruby gags. Again. For at least twenty-one seconds straight. “There is a dead person here. Let’s try and keep some perspective. Also what did you say about that assistant?” “Aurora was terrified of Cora,” Killian reasons. “I doubt she’ll be back before the end of lunch. And you’ve got nothing to be worried about, Swan. It’s not going to change anything.” He can’t possibly mean it the way it sounds, but Emma’s brain doesn’t care. It latches to those words and that particular curve of his lips, confident in her and whatever magic she may be in possession of to fix things and control things she shouldn’t be able to control. Killian nods again when Emma wavers, his smile shifting slightly when he raises his right hand to cover his eyes.

“That better?” he asks.

Emma has to look down to make sure her entire body has not exploded into flames. It has not. That’s nice. “Yeah,” she breathes. “That’s...that’s good.”

“Can we get on with it?” Ruby drawls. She’s started opening drawers.

“You may want to move,” Emma suggests. “Sometimes they can get a little flaily when they just wake up.” “Oh, yeah, good point.” She takes the whole drawer with her when she steps to the other side of the office.

Emma takes a deep breath, tugging her phone out of her pocket and setting the timer and she’s almost pleased to notice that her finger doesn’t shake when she brushes over Cora’s hand. Killian’s fingers shift.

He’s still smiling.

And Cora does, in fact, flail. Her limbs are everywhere, impossibly agile and decidedly threatening, even with a few less nails than she’s normally used to. She jerks back as soon as Emma touches her, eyes crazed with a snarl on her face that’s only slightly intimidating.

Her head snaps around, taking in her surroundings as if she’s surprised to find herself still in the office where she, presumably, died a few minutes earlier.

“Oh,” Cora says, some of the fight almost visibly falling off her. “That’s—” She glances around again, and the curse she growls at all of them as soon as her eyes land on Killian is enough to make Emma’s hair curl without any humidity involved. ‘No, no, no,” Cora stammers. “What the hell are you doing here?” “That’s the million dollar question isn’t it?” Killian asks. “Who killed you, Cora?” “Where’s your hand?”

“Full of tact as always, ma’am.” “That’s not a question of tact, although if you’d like to discuss upbringing, I’d be only too happy to share some thoughts on your uncles and what they’ve done to that beautiful house.” “Did you think I had both of my hands when I died?”

“I didn’t think they’d take it, no.” “They?” “Listen,” Emma interrupts. “You’ve got like...fifty seconds to tell us everything that’s happened to you today and why you’re missing nails.” Cora blinks. “I wasn’t going to sit there and take it. That goon—” “—A goon,” Ruby cuts in. “What kind of goon?” “Is this heaven? Because that’s...well, that’s a little surprising, honestly.” “It’s not heaven,” Killian promises. “But there��s the possibility for some serious karmic retribution if you answer our questions. I make no guarantees about where you’ll end up, although I imagine not being a complete and utter harpy can only help you.” Cora laughs, dark and threatening. “Oh, you were always far too confident for your own good, Jones. I’d imagine the people who killed me are the same people who got rid of you. Although why they brought you back to Storybrooke, I’ll never understand.” “Is that why you offered the reward?” Ruby asks. “Covering your own ass?” “That’s a little crass, but sufficient.” “Who were these people?” Killian presses. “You never actually said.” “And yet you were only all too happy to agree weren’t you? Desperate to get out of this town and away from this life. It was the perfect opportunity for both of us.” “Explain that.”

Cora bristles at the command, Emma still sitting there silent and nervous and she hates how knowing the gaze that flashes towards her is. “Oh,” Cora says. “There’s something interesting about you, isn’t there? And it...it matches up with his.” Emma jerks her head up. “Who’s what?” “Jones. Can’t you feel that? Ah, well maybe you can’t, but that’s always been my own particular talent. That’s why they recruited me of course.” “Who?” Killian shouts, standing up and Emma hears Ruby’s breath hitch. He’s furious, that much is obvious, but it’s more than that, a hint of darkness and frustration that wasn’t there when they were kids and it makes him feel taller and more threatening than anything else in that room. “You’re running out of time here, Cora. Straight answers.” “Fine,” she snaps. “Sit down, you’re acting like a petulant child. I’ve...well, I’ve been endowed with several gifts in my life and one of my more...appealing gifts is the ability to see into someone’s heart.” “What?” “If you’d like an explanation, then it’s probably in your best interest not to interrupt.” Killian doesn’t sit down, but he doesn’t say anything else and Emma moves to the front of her seat when his fingers wrap around the back of her chair. “As I was saying,” Cora continues. “I’m rather good at seeing what people want. Deepest desires and darkest feelings, those hopes and needs we’ve done our best to hide away from the rest of the world. And our mutual employer found that very interesting. He wanted someone with your particular abilities to help him, Mr. Jones.” “I don’t have any particular abilities,” Killian says. Emma hopes she doesn’t crack the chair.

Cora shakes her head, smile turning mocking. “I believed that for a very long time too, but that’s not true. I can see it, Mr. Jones and I can feel it. It’s...not quite as strong as Ms. Swan, yes, I remember you too, but it’s there. And it seems to time up very well with hers.” “With my what?” Emma demands, almost too aware of the ticking seconds on her phone.

“Why your magic, of course. Both of you. It’s admittedly unfortunate that you had to die for it, Mr. Jones, but I’d imagine you walked right into it.”

“There’s no magic here,” Killian says, but Cora is already shaking her head and looking far too smug. She narrows her eyes.

“The darkness is always interested in finding more of us whenever he can.” Emma freezes, mouth hanging open and breath coming in decidedly unattractive pants. Killian curses – loudly. And they almost suffer another disaster, a case of proximity and the whims of the universe, but Ruby’s shrill Emma, fuck wakes her up and she more or less slaps Cora across the face.

It’s oddly satisfying.

None of them say anything. There’s not much to say. Magic is a child’s story, but Emma can wake the dead and make sure they stay dead and the buzzing in her head roared to life at Cora’s words, like it was reveling in them and there’s got to be an explanation for this.

This explanation, however, only seems to spark more questions.

That’s less satisfying.

“So,” Ruby says, eventually breaking the silence and Cora looks worse now than she did when they first found her. “That uh...didn’t really help us much at all, did it?”

“None of that made sense,” Killian mutters. “That’s—”

“—You going to tell me that magic is impossible when you just watched your girlfriend undead and redead someone?” “There’s got to be a better way of phrasing that,” Emma mumbles. She lets her head drop forward, colliding with the wood of the desk painfully.

Ruby makes a noise that is, hopefully, an agreement. “Yeah, probably. So, uh...you do anything magical recently, Jones?” “That’s the part that doesn’t make any sense,” he says. “I never even learned how to do card tricks. I...I wanted to get out of Storybrooke and Cora gave me an avenue to do that while helping Nemo. That’s all there was to it.” “Still doesn’t help us much as far as figuring out who you were both, apparently, working for.” “She said him,” Emma whispers, the realization striking her like lightning and several other natural disasters. She hears Killian shift, letting go of the chair to move around her and he’s crouched next to her when she moves her head. “Cora, I mean. Whatever she was talking about with magic. She said the darkness is looking for that, but she said him. As in a human male.” “Or an alien male,” Ruby suggests. “Let’s be as inclusive as possible. Could even be an animal, right? A really dangerous...dark cat? What’s a terrifying animal? Oh, God, what about an alligator? Right, right? Apex predator.”

“It’s a crocodile,” Killian mutters. His knees must be killing him. He doesn’t try to stand up. “Those jaws could snap a whole person right in half. Plus, they’re scaly, so that just makes them untrustworthy. Thoughts, Swan?”

Emma can’t shrug when she’s more or less draped across a dead mayor’s desk and they are pressing their luck staying that office with the same dead mayor, but she makes a valiant effort and that’s really all she can ask of herself right now. “You said it was shady, didn’t you? The whole thing on the boat—ship, yeah, God, that’s...it’s stupid that you keep doing that.” “It’s a control thing,” Killian admits with a smile. “But, yeah, it felt incredibly shady. And...wrong.” “What does that mean?” “I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like a complete and total crazy person. “Try me.”

Killian sighs, but it’s not frustration. It’s more nerves and concern and Emma knows part of that, most of it really, is directed at her. She’s going to give herself carpal tunnel from tensing her fists so often. “It felt wrong,” he starts. “I don’t...it was like I could hear it.” Emma’s elbow falls off the desk. She’s very glad she’s already sitting down. “You could hear what? Exactly?” “Buzzing?” “Why was that a question?” “Because you seem to already have a very strong idea of what my answer was going to be, Swan.”

“God,” Ruby chuckles. “When this is all over, Jones, remind me to offer you a job. You’re incredibly good at reading people.” He shakes his head, eyes not leaving Emma. “Just her.”

The rush of everything that shoots from the top of Emma’s head to the very tips of her toes isn’t quite as overwhelming as it probably should be. She’s got her suspicions about that – the look on Killian’s face and how goddamn blue his eyes are and whatever his mouth does when, she assumes, he feels it too – but Emma’s never been very good at actually voicing her emotions.

And Killian has always known anyway.

Plus Ruby would probably make fun of them.

“Did you feel that?” Emma asks softly, another unnecessary question. They need to get out of Storybrooke. She’s going to bake twenty-six pies. At least.

Killian nods. “Did you hear that?” “The buzzing?” “The buzzing.” “Yeah, I did.” “Ok, good.” “Good?” Emma echoes, and her voice cracks traitorously on the word. Killian moves, shifting his weight back onto his heels as soon as she presses her lips back together. He wiggles his fingers, like he’s trying to stop himself from touching her and Emma is fairly sure she doesn’t imagine his mumbled fuck it before he reaches forward, stopping just short of the bend in her knee. He doesn’t touch her.

That’s for the best.

Or so she’ll tell herself on loop while she bakes those twenty-six pies.

“It means we’re both equally crazy,” Killian mutters, Ruby cackling at the sentiment. Emma blinks, not quite crying, but drifting dangerously close and her shoulders droop when she exhales loudly.

“Yeah, I think it might be exactly that.”

“Well, now that we’ve settled all of that,” Ruby announces, stuffing what appear to be a few receipts into her jacket pocket, “let’s say we evacuate the crime scene, do a little bit more research on some kind of mythical darkness from the outer reaches of space and then maybe get Jones some new clothes to wear?” "I really don’t think we’re dealing with aliens,” Emma reasons.

“And where exactly do you suggest we get me new clothes?” Killian adds, holding his arm out when Emma moves towards the office door. She mutters gentleman under her breath and he winks at her. “I don’t know that some kind of makeover montage is really in order,” Ruby sticks her tongue out. “I have clothes.” “I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my balance in your heels.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re absolutely hysterical. And you couldn’t even hold your own in my heels. But you might be able to do something in some t-shirts.” “At least solve a few more crimes.” “I think we’re still just dealing with one.” “Small miracles,” Emma mumbles. “Although you should get some new clothes. These are…” She doesn’t finish – not sure if it’s offensive or just plain ridiculous, but they were also just talking about aliens, so Emma figures she’s well within her right when it comes to ridiculous.

“Yeah, it is a little macabre, isn’t it?” Killian asks.

“Good word.” “Voracious reader with a very smart vocabulary.” “Is that what you tell all the girls when you meet them?” He snorts. Ruby groans. “No,” Killian says. “That’s what Shakespeare used to say when I’d use that same smart vocabulary to tell him that no one was interested in hearing another soliloquy.” “Did he recite soliloquies often?” “Almost as often as he liked to critique my clothing choices. He was never very big on the leather jackets.” Emma’s reaction to that is one-hundred percent more ridiculous than the alien idea. “Huh.” The tips of Killian’s ears go red.

“That was super smooth, Em,” Ruby mutters, ushering them both back into the hallway as soon as the footsteps in the hallway start to grow louder. “But I’m not super interested in getting arrested this afternoon, so, if you two would be so kind…”

Emma nods quickly, Killian tugging his hat further down and pushing the sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. They’re back in the car, key turning in the ignition when they hear, what Emma assumes, is Aurora’s scream.

“How did you decide you wanted to open a pie place?”

Emma tilts her head, several hours after a fashion clinic in Ruby’s apartment and Ruby’s absolute refusal to explain why she had so much disposable clothing of the men-type variety. “Pie place,” she repeats slowly, stirring the mixture in front of her.

Killian grabs a strawberry.

“Ok, stop that,” Emma snaps, but there’s a distinct lack of annoyance in her voice. It’s almost too obvious how easily he’s charming her. “We’re not going to have anything to put in the pie. And this was your idea.” It was – laden down with at least a week’s worth of clothes and a few options for shirts because, you know, you need some extra shirts, Jones, Killian and Emma had walked back to her restaurant, slightly cautious steps because, for the first time since this had all started, there was a break in the action and a lull in the momentum and he asked if she’d bake something.

“I can help,” Killian added quickly, flashing her a smile, her smile , and Emma couldn’t argue with that. He’d probably been banking on that.

“And it was a very good idea,” Killian says. “I’m just trying to spark some conversation while you do whatever it is you’re doing. What is it you’re doing, incidentally?” “Making crust.” “You make your crust?” “Oh my God, that’s honestly the rudest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Killian shakes his head, reaching forward to try and steal a handful of raspberries. “That can’t possibly be true.” “It is and then some,” Emma promises. “You think I...what? Use frozen pie crust in my actual pie restaurant? That’s ghastly.” He nearly chokes on his handful of raspberries. “Did you just suggest that frozen pie crust is ghastly? Did that really just happen?” “It is. It’s all processed and there’s way too much sugar in it and it’s not good. It’s...there’s no feeling involved.” Killian doesn’t freeze, exactly, but it’s awfully close and Emma wonders if, maybe, some of Cora’s claimed magic has shifted to him. Like a magical barnacle. She kind of feels as if he can see straight into her or through her, she’s not sure which is worse.

“You bake with a lot of feeling, Swan?”

“No,” Emma grumbles. She needs to find a whisk. And buttermilk. “Can you open the fridge for me? And if you try and steal any more of my filling, I’m going to hide all your clothes on you and then what will you do?” “That seems to suggest you think I won’t leave the apartment in your clothes.”

“I bet you a magillion dollars you would not do that.” His shoulders shake with his laugh – the sound finding its way to Emma’s ears despite most of his head pushed into the refrigerator. “How many zeros would you say are in a magillion? Also what am I looking for in here? You haven’t actually given me any instructions.” “Oh, uh, buttermilk and just like...as much butter as you can carry.”

“That is not very specific.” “I don’t need it to be specific.” Killian glances at her over his shoulder, a wry look on his face and the prickle of something at the base of Emma’s skull kind of feels like sticking her hand into a fire. It’s not uncomfortable, just little brushes of warmth and familiarity, but she’s a little worried about getting burned by the whole, entire thing.

She wishes she’d stop thinking in metaphor.

“Isn’t baking some kind of exact science?” Killian asks. “I always thought you had to follow a baking recipe to the letter.” “Whoever told you that was a great, big, enormous liar.” “Wow, that is just...a sweeping judgment.” Emma shrugs. “It’s true. Baking is, well, at least for me, it’s instinctual. God, did that sound as weird out loud as I think it did?” “It didn’t.” He has to bump the refrigerator door closed with his hip, which probably shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “But it did sound as if you’re baking with a little bit more than feeling, love. So, let’s have it. Why’d you open the pie place?” Emma considers her answer for a moment – the idea of lying about it particularly appealing, but then he’s dumping ten sticks of butter onto her counter and there’s a jug of buttermilk pinned to his side with his blunted arm and anything except the absolute truth seems entirely unfair.

To both of them.

“It always felt like home,” Emma says. “And I’m...well, at the risk of sounding like a melodramatic idiot, this is something I’m really good at.” “That’s not melodramatic. It’s not entirely true, but it’s not melodramatic.” “You don’t know enough about me to know it’s not true.” Killian shakes his head, the smile on his face making it very difficult to come up with all those reasons Emma was so certain of a few seconds before. “I think I still know you pretty well. And I know you’re far too hard on yourself. It’s not necessary. Although,” he adds, grabbing a stick of butter and a knife, “you want these chopped?” “Yes, into, like...just, you know follow the lines on the wrapper? Was that your follow-up question?” “No, no, I just figured I should continue to pull my weight around here.” “It’s been kind of a ridiculous few days, I think you could get a pass.” Another head shake. This one is a little more tired and a little more anxious and several of Emma’s internal organs lurch at the sight. “I’d be very interested in knowing every single about you from the last twenty years.” She giggles. An honest to God, real life giggle. It feels like it bubbles straight out of her soul and explodes into rainbows and those little animated hearts that showed up on the Saturday morning cartoons they used to watch when they were kids, the ones that always showed how in love a character was.

Damn, Emma hates when Ruby is right.

“What do you want to know?” Emma asks, and Killian beams. While cutting up butter.

They’re sitting on the floor of the kitchen twenty minutes later, pie in the oven and a bowl of berries in between them – We’re getting real berries, Swan, if you’re going to bake the pie, the least you can do is eat it too – and Emma knows her teeth are stained blue. It doesn’t seem to be bothering Killian, who doesn’t seem to have an end to his list of questions.

“Ok, what about prom?” “What about it?” “Did you go?” “And you dare to suggest you know me.” He rolls his head onto his shoulder, unimpressed. “I don’t need to rehash old points of the conversation, Swan. An answer, please and thank you.” “No,” Emma shakes her head. “I was...somewhere at that point, shit, when are you supposed to go to prom?” “I don’t know, I didn’t go.” “You didn’t go?” “Do you know me? It was far too middle America. I had no use for corsages or tuxedos or spending all that money on a limo to just stand awkwardly on a dance floor. Plus, you know, it’d probably help to have some friends who would want to go. Or a girl.” He mumbles the last few words, refusing to meet Emma’s gaze and she hates how stunned she is. She’s incredibly stunned. “God, what a bunch of idiots.” “Who? Me and you?” “No, well, yes, but mostly the teenage population of Storybrooke whenever you’re technically supposed to go to prom. Probably like sixteen, right? They’re the idiots. I bet you’d be a great dancer anyway.” Killian chuckles, soft and still a little nervous, which makes Emma’s organs react again, but she’s also pretty positive she can feel something in the admittedly minimal amount of space between them and it might be magic.

She kind of hopes it’s magic.

It feels a lot like what she thinks magic would feel like.

“That’s an awful lot of confidence you’re throwing my direction, Swan.” “I’m not throwing it,” Emma argues. “I’m placing it. Lightly. At your feet. Which I’m sure are incredibly rhythmic.” “I’d at least be able to ask Shakespeare for some lessons. I’m sure he’s got tips.” Emma hums, not entirely in agreement, but mostly in contentment. “When’d you get your first leather jacket?” “I was fourteen.” “Wow, a bad boy from a very young age.” “Nah, a wanna-be. Mostly because I thought it’d make me look cool and, well...I remembered Liam having one when he was younger.” Emma doesn’t gasp. She’s proud of herself for that. She does, however, lick her lips and that might be worse because Killian notices and that means Killian is looking at her lips. It suddenly feels impossibly warm in her kitchen.

“That must have been before I got to Storybrooke,” Emma murmurs, and Killian nods.

“Yeah, I think it must have been. Ok. What about…movie...snack?” “Popcorn. With melted malt balls on top.” Killian makes a scandalized noise, complete with tongue and that only means Emma is also staring at her lips. Maybe they are the idiots of this story. “That is disgusting,” he proclaims. “How do you make that?” “Oh, it’s a very refined recipe. Lots of boiling and melting and—” She can’t help but laugh when he gapes at her, some of the tension twisting in between her shoulders loosening at the color of his eyes. “C’mon. I use a microwave. It’s the least complex thing I make.”

“That still sounds disgusting. It can’t be very healthy.” “Strangely enough I’m not thinking about my blood pressure when I’m watching movies.” “Favorite?” “Hmmmm?” “Your favorite movie,” Killian says, pausing between every word as if Emma is under oath and the fate of several different galaxies rests on her answer. They’re not actually dealing with aliens. “When we were kids it was—” “—Still is. That, uh...that hasn’t changed.”

He’s silent for a moment, another far too charged moment with irregular temperatures and the growing scent of a pie with way more berries than the recipe called for hanging in the air. And then he’s moving, reaching up towards the counter and knocking the roll of saran wrap on the floor, plastic spilling at his feet.

“Ah, damn,” Killian sighs. “That’s not nearly as romantic as I was hoping it would be.” Emma clicks her tongue. “I think it went ok.” “Something about kissing, right? At the end? Most passionate, most pure...this one left them all behind. That’s how it goes?” “Yeah,” she breathes, yanking off a far-too-long sheet of saran wrap. “Is this a kissing book?” “I’d very much like it to be.”

Emma giggles again – straight into the plastic and against his mouth and she sees him shift, doing his best to keep any other limbs away from her and how much she wants to touch his goddamn hair. They stay in each other's space for a moment, quick kisses that turn back into longer ones that turn into quick and bruising and a slew of other adjectives that probably look ridiculous to anything else.

It feels a little life-changing to Emma.

Killian is the first one to make a noise that time, a victory of the make-out variety for Emma and her distinct lack of make-out experience. He opens his mouth against her, like he wants to tug on her lower lip or do something that involves the tongue that’s been distracting her all day, and both of those are impossible. Emma appreciates the effort.

“I stole gloves from Ruby’s apartment,” Killian mumbles through the plastic against her chin, and Emma startles at that.

“Is that code?” “We should come up with a code. I bet that’d infuriate Ruby.” “You’ve known Ruby for point two seconds and you’re already trying to infuriate her?” “Don’t forget stealing from her. That’s really the important part.” “Why’d you steal glove?” Emma asks, still a little breathless and a little giggly and a little something after all those kisses. And she kind of knows the answer.

Killian kisses her through the crumpled-up plastic again. “To hold your hand.”

“Emma. Emma, are you there?” Emma blinks blearily, trying to take in her surroundings and there isn’t anything there. She’s standing on nothing, nothing but darkness around her and a distinct lack of anything. The voice yells her name again.

“What the hell…” Emma starts, stumbling backwards when she blinks and there are two people standing in front of her.

The woman is shorter than the man, dark hair in a pixie cut and a soft look to her eyes that feels like it could wrap around Emma and protect her for the rest of forever and, at the same time, cut down anyone who dared to threaten that. The man isn’t much taller than Killian, hair almost sandy in color and a set of his jaw that feels far too familiar.

Emma curses. It’s distinctly piratical.

The woman’s eyebrows leap. “Oh,” she mutters, but the man is laughing and he sounds kind of proud. “Well, that was...I mean, that’s fair.”

“What is going on?” Emma demands.

“You have to listen to us, Emma. This is important and there isn’t much time. But...things are happening now that have been destined to happen since, well, the dawn of time—” “—What?” “Don’t interrupt,” the man chides. He’s smiling at Emma. And it all feels like déjà vu and answers to questions Emma’s never wanted to ask for fear of what she’ll find out. She bites her tongue.

“It’s going to get difficult, sweetheart,” the woman continues. “But it won’t always be like that. You won’t always be like that. And, I promise, he’ll understand.” Emma blinks. “Who? Who will understand, what?”

“It’s going to be worth it, Emma. No matter what you think. Love is always worth it.”

Emma opens her mouth to ask what the hell are you talking about again, but she takes a breath and everything shimmers and her phone is ringing.

“You’ve got to answer that, love,” Killian mumbles, back on the living room floor with a glove on his right hand and fingers brushing Emma’s forearm.

Emma shakes her head, trying to get rid of metaphorical and possible literal cobwebs and she’s already having a difficult time remembering what she just saw. She grabs her phone off the coffee table, nearly hitting her head in the process and Ruby is already talking as soon as Emma swipes her thumb across the screen.

“Em,” she says sharply. “You’ve got to get down here. They found another body.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #one foot in #MAGIC #MAKING OUT #MAYOR MILLS BEING A PROBLEM #nailed the alliteration #i'm still sad about the rangers that's my excuse for everything

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