#like he planned it out enough he could’ve put something about the cyclical nature of wealth on the citibike

[spookytunes]

The whole CEO shooter thing is so funny just because of how quintessentially American it is. Like we fully had a man decide that yeah it’s time to exercise my second amendment rights for good. And not only that, he did it with elegance, poise, and symbolism? Girl did not have to do all of that but did it anyways for the fans.

[slow-smiles]

The plan to tell Emma’s parents about her relationship with Killian gets derailed when she is kidnapped by the Dark One. Captain Duckling. Revelations, reunions, adventures, and smut ensues. ~10.7k The grand finale to the My Princess, My Pirate series.

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

The Swan of Misthaven. Part Four.

When Killian had stepped up to her and asked her if she trusted him, Emma had been moments away from hurling herself in the opposite direction. She could feel the sun inside her, splitting her skin, feel the heat and power and danger of it barely held in check. The dam had been about to break.

But his certainty had drawn her in. This insane curse on her might not be the sleeping curse that had once afflicted her mother, but it is still a curse. She knows the stories better than anyone. Her parents lived it. True Love’s Kiss can break any curse.

Any doubt she might’ve had about their feelings for one other has long since melted away. She’s known his love for her and hers for him for years now, felt the strength and courage and empathy it’s given her. How it has made her softer and stronger all at once. Besides, he’s always made her feel like she’s capable of achieving the impossible.

“I love you,” he whispers. The naked vulnerability in his eyes makes her heart ache.

Everything fades away, and her view of the world narrows to him.

“I love you,” she replies.

She kisses him.

And feels magic.

A ripple goes out from them like a shockwave, a wave of rainbow light that rushes away them like a sharp breeze. Warmth and love and their depth of feeling rushes over her like an ocean wave, and she feels, for a moment, like they are one.

Quite suddenly, the power that had been threatening to tear her apart is extinguished like a snuffed candle’s flame. Simply gone.

She smiles into his kiss because it worked. They will be okay. Everyone is safe and unhurt, and the Dark One is gone for good in a land where he can do no more harm. A different feeling rises in Emma’s chest, not the burning power from before, but magic in it’s own way. The love she has for the man in front of her is overwhelming in that moment, affection blended with relief and happiness.

He makes a sound deep in his chest when she brings her fingers to his hair and grips tightly, and his arm around her pulls her ever closer. She would keep kissing him forever, but the rest of the world has come bleeding back, and she just barely hears her dad’s pointed cough from behind them and is reminded of their audience.

Emma reluctantly breaks away, loathe to do so but practicality making it a necessity. She looks up at Killian, everything much sharper, easier to focus on now that the power of Urd is no longer holding her captive. The blinding smile on his face is infectious. He pulls her in for a hug, and Emma can’t resist it, letting her chin rest against his shoulder and the side of her head rest against his.

“You’re all right,” he marvels, sounding wrecked by what they just accomplished. “You’re okay.” Urd’s curse is gone. Everyone is safe by virtue of the love they share for each other, and if that isn’t something to marvel at while she has him in her arms, she doesn’t know what is.

“Yeah,” Emma agrees softly. “I never thought—” Her fingers tighten against his coat, and she doesn’t finish her thought before she’s pulling away from him. She gives him a look that conveys a promise, a this isn’t finished, a we’ll talk later.

He’s reluctant to let her go, and she isn’t eager to do so either, but he isn’t the only one who has feared for her safety.

Snow and David rush to where they stand, their arms going around her and clutching her close to them. A different kind of love rises in her chest at the feeling of their embrace. “We were so worried about you,” Snow whispers.

“I’m sorry,” Emma offers. She has a lot to explain. Distantly, a wounded part of her wonders if they were responsible for the suppression hex that Rumplestiltskin had mentioned, but those are questions for later, questions for a time when the relief of being held by her mom and dad doesn’t feel so raw and necessary.

“Don’t apologize,” Charming says, his voice thick with emotion. “Gods, don’t apologize.”

A chunk of the ceiling falls across the room from them, startling them all and Emma and her parents jump apart.

Regina looks up. “We should probably get out of here. Wouldn’t be a very fitting end to this journey if the castle collapses on top of us,” she finishes dryly.

Her parents look like they aren’t ready for their hug to be over, but Emma nods at Regina. “I’d rather not hang around here any longer than I have to.”

PAGE BREAK

Snow is conflicted. 

On one hand, Emma is safe. Relief is an inadequate word for what she’s feeling after Hook and her daughter shared True Love’s Kiss and saved her from the cyclical curse. To hold her daughter in her arms after fearing for her life is indescribable. To know that she will be alright, to know that she has someone who truly loves her, enough to create magic and break curses, is everything Snow could’ve ever dreamed.

On the other hand, magic has caused them no small amount of grief in their lives, and she can’t say she’s thrilled to find her daughter to be such an apparent natural at it. She’s been trying to come to terms since Regina told them, point blank, that Emma has it. On one hand, magic nearly cost Regina her sanity, resulted in the deaths of thousands, drove Rumplestiltskin to dark madness, cursed Ruby with her wolf form that killed Peter, and countless other cautionary tales from their lives. On the other hand, it was magic from the love she shares with David that awoke her from the sleeping curse. True love is magic, and as Regina described it, Emma’s magic is cut from the same cloth.

Still, Emma did come perilously close to killing Rumplestiltskin in the way that Regina had killed so many of Snow’s subjects, friends, and allies.

It’s an uncomfortable image, one that Snow knows is going to linger in her mind long after today.

Regina gives Emma an impromptu lesson on teleportation and doesn’t let her try to transport anyone aside from herself. (“You’re a lot less liable to leave behind your own arm or leg compared to someone else’s when you’re new to magical transport.”) She picks it up without much of a problem, teleporting herself out of the castle without a struggle.

“She’s talented,” Regina says before she makes a few quick gestures, and her own magic is rising around them and transporting the rest of their party outside the castle. She promptly collapses against a nearby tree when her magic dissipates. 

“Regina!” Robin cries, and he rushes to her side.

“I’m okay,” Regina says, unconvincingly. She braces herself against the trunk, her breathing heavy. She wipes a hand across her nose and checks her knuckles, as though she was anticipating blood. “It’s been a long time since I’ve used this much magic.” She chuckles. “I’m out of shape.”

Robin says, “You’re riding with me. Emma can take Junior.” His tone brooks no argument, but Regina doesn’t seem keen to offer one.

Emma casts a longing glance at Hook--Snow remembers the desire to be close after a True Love’s Kiss. As much as she still has so many questions surrounding their relationship, that kind of magic can’t be faked. Whatever it might mean for them going forward, Captain Hook truly loves Emma, and she truly loves him.

Emma doesn’t complain though, and agrees to take Regina’s horse instead.

“Junior doesn’t like having a strong hand on the bit,” Regina says as Emma mounts up. “She responds to leg cues better, so be sure to--”

��Darling, I think Emma will be able to handle her,” Robin interrupts. “Relax.”

“Sorry,” Regina says, and it makes Snow smile a little. For all that Regina’s changed over the years, it’s comforting to find things that are still familiar. Still reminiscent of the kind young woman who loved horses and saved Snow’s life.

They set off away from the castle, Robin leading the way, and as though gravitating around each other, Emma and Hook end up side by side. Snow and Charming bring up the rear. There’s a thousand things she needs to say, but she can’t put words to any of them. She looks over at Charming, whose expression is hard to read, but she has a feeling his emotions are a close match to hers.

“Lovely day for a ride,” Hook comments with a grin, and Snow looks forward again to see him and Emma smiling at each other. “Almost as lovely as my riding companion.”

Emma laughs. “You know, I think your flirting game has gotten weaker over the years.”

He dramatically clutches his chest. “Emma, you wound me. The ‘explosive chemistry’ line was some of my best work.”

Emma lifts her leg from the horse’s side and pokes Killian’s calf with her toe. “‘Best work’ my ass. I’ve heard your good lines. That was lower-mid tier at best.”

Their light banter continues on and off for the duration of the ride, and Snow can’t help but devour everything they say. It’s like these conversations are puzzle pieces, small windows into the relationship that has meant so much to Emma for years. They mention places Snow has never heard of, people she’s never met. She’s heard the old adage that once your children reach a certain age, you will never fully know them again, and it’s only now that Snow feels like that is the truth.

They reach Robin and Regina’s village before long, the sun still high in the sky, though it has long since slipped past high noon.

“You are all more than welcome to stay,” Robin suggests. Regina doesn’t have the same naturally welcoming disposition as her husband, but she manages to look agreeable to his offer.

“We should be able to reach home by nightfall,” Snow says. “You’ve already done more than enough for us.”

“We can at least draw your horses some water before you go,” Regina offers, and once her husband dismounts, he helps her down. Regina looks a bit steadier than before, but she’s still far too pale. Robin makes sure she’s securely leaning against the fence before he goes to a nearby trough to draw some water for their mounts.

“Charming, would you mind taking Claudius over for me?” she asks.

“Of course,” he answers. Once they’re both on the ground, Snow hands over the reins to David and walks over to where Regina is staring at her with one eyebrow cocked.

“Claudius?”

Snow laughs. “Emma named him after her favorite character from… oh, which one was it that she was obsessed with that year… The Pauper in Armor! That was it.” Gods, how many discussions had she and David endured from teenage Emma about how the Lady Alyssa had been better off without Sir Peter, whose fated match was alluded to be Sir Gregory anyway, and should’ve chosen Claudius instead.

“If it’s any consolation, we let Eliza name my horse when we first brought her home. She was four and decided that ‘Juney Booney Dooney Dots’ was the perfect name for our newest foal.” Regina smiles wistfully. “I wasn’t going to overrule her, but I did reserve the right to give her a nickname.”

Snow snorts softly. “The things we do for our children.”

“Indeed,” Regina agrees, quiet.

Snow looks around--at Hook and Emma making eyes at each other leaning on an opposite fence, at Robin chatting animatedly with David who seems to be concentrating very hard on not looking at Hook and Emma--and is struck quite suddenly by a sharp sense of appreciation.

“Listen, Regina--”

Regina holds up a hand and shakes her head. “I know what you’re going to say and--” she cuts herself off with a sigh. “It was the right thing to do. I’m not the Evil Queen anymore, but my scales are far from balanced.”

Snow smiles a little. “Scales balanced or not, I do owe you a thank you.” She can see Regina about to protest. “We wouldn’t have been able to get Emma out if it weren’t for you.”

Regina scoffs a little and looks over at Emma. “She did a pretty good job of saving herself there, at the end.”

Snow tries to hide her wince at imagining Emma nearly killing Rumplestiltskin, but apparently doesn’t do a good enough job.

“I know she scared you, what with the whole--” Regina mimes crushing a heart, “--you know, ‘reminding you of me’ thing. But go easy on her,” she says, and both of them cast their gazes over at Emma, whose smile is bright enough to rival the stars. Hook says something that makes her tip her head back and laugh. “What she chose to do wasn’t easy.”

Snow lets out a breath. “Choosing kindness rarely is.” She turns away from Emma and looks at Regina. “Thank you.”

She lets out a frustrated sound. “I told you--”

Snow chuckles. “I know, I know.”

Before long, the horses seem ready to get going again. Robin offers an extra horse so that all of them may have their own mounts heading back, but Emma is quick to turn him down. “We’ll be okay doubling up. We wouldn’t want to impose any more than we already have.”

Robin chuckles. “Well, we certainly don’t have a shortage of good horses around here, but I won’t insist,” he says before heading to Regina’s side, clearly intending on escorting her inside.

As they begin to mount up, Regina calls out, “Wait!”

They all freeze and glance back, but Regina’s eyes are focused solely on Emma.

“Wait,” Regina repeats before she turns to Robin as says, “I’m not going to keel over. Would you mind going to make some tea for me?” 

Robin sighs, but acquiesces. “If you do happen to keel over, I reserve the right to hold it over you for the rest of our lives.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Emma,” she says, turning back, “come here for a minute.”

“Oh,” Emma says, “uh, sure.”

She walks over to Regina without the hesitation that had colored her voice. Their conversation is brief, and Snow can’t make out any words, but Emma comes away from it looking pensive.

Hook also notices, and he beats her to the punch in asking, “Everything alright, love?”

“Yeah,” she assures, absently. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… really want to go home.”

As they set off towards home, Snow’s heart is weighted with all the things she wishes to say to her daughter, and her mind occupied with what Regina might’ve said to her.

PAGE BREAK

Silence descends as their group of four winds through the forests at the outer edge of Misthaven. Emma quietly stews, tension in her shoulders as she thinks over Regina’s words to her once more.

“I have a few things I want to say before I go pass out,” Regina says once Emma is in front of her. “First, there’s the matter of the suppression hex.”

Emma startles. “How’d you know about that?”

“Because I made it,” she answers brusquely. “Now before you jump to any conclusions, no, I didn’t put it on you. I just made it.”

“You made it but didn’t cast it? But that… I don’t understand.”

Regina rolls her eyes. “Right, because you never got trained.” 

Emma feels annoyance rise sharply. She might owe Regina a lot, and she’s certainly a better person than Emma had always assumed the Evil Queen would be, but the rudeness chafes at her. “And that’s my fault, how?”

She shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” Her tone shifts to that of a tutor, an expert who is simplifying something that is probably quite complex, “A hex is a spell that must be crafted by a dark magic user, but can then be cast by anyone if they have the incantation to place it.”

“Who asked you to make it?” Emma asks, half-dreading the answer. Please don’t say my parents. Please don’t say they asked for it.

“The Blue Fairy.”

“I--what? Really?”

Regina nods. “I don’t want to tell you who to trust, but…” Her look turns piercing. “Be careful. Magic is… complicated, but I can tell you that it’s a sharp blade--one that can be used to either shear a sheep or cut its throat.” 

“Rumplestiltskin said something similar,” Emma remembers. “Power to destroy or save, or something like that. Had to do with some weird prophecy.”

Regina looks interested at that. “Destroyer or Savior?” she asks, as if quoting something.

“Yeah. Why? Is that important?”

Regina’s lips purse, then she shakes her head. “Maybe, but don’t worry about it now. I only wanted to tell you that you have people on your side who love you, and that--” Regina swallows, a far off look in her eyes, “--that can make all the difference in the world. Don’t shut them out. The pirate clearly adores you. Your parents might be nervous about your magic at first, but they will be there for you no matter what. And if you would like more lessons on how to refine your control, you know where to find me.”

Blue has never been her friend, but she is certainly someone her parents have trusted. She has an open seat on their Council if she wishes for it, though fairy business keeps it vacant far more often than not. She apparently helped them innumerable times in their conflict with Regina and the Dark One. Since Regina’s turn, peace has been more common than strife, so Blue hasn’t been needed as urgently as she had been back then, so Emma doesn’t really know her.

That doesn’t make it any easier to swallow that one of her parents’ trusted allies willfully concocted a plan to suppress her magic using a hex, all in complete secrecy.

Her arms tighten around Killian’s waist.

“Swan?” he asks softly.

The old nickname makes her shiver. It’ll take some time to forget what it meant to Rumplestiltskin.

“Did Regina tell you about the hex?” she whispers.

“She did,” he replies, keeping his volume as soft as hers.

It takes her a moment to gather the courage to ask, “My parents didn’t know anything about it, did they?”

“No,” he answers. “Not a chance.”

His certainty makes her relax a little. Her life has suddenly become very strange, with magic and prophecies and curses, it’s nice to know at least some of the foundations she’s come to rely on are still there. Killian, her mom, and her dad. She doesn’t want to imagine a life where she doesn’t have them, and thankfully, she won’t have to.

They arrive back at the castle with little fanfare—it is nighttime, the sun having dipped below the horizon a few hours prior. The stars seem to shine with a particular intensity tonight, highlighted rather than drowned by the glow of the nearly full moon. Emma’s attention is more focused on the man in front of her than the night sky.

Even in the soft, blue light of the moon, she can see that he looks pensive. They hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to one another, truly speak to one another, since they’d come for her. She doesn’t know what she’d say exactly, the experiences of the last few days an unexpected avalanche of discoveries.

With the late hour, it’s not until they are close to the gates and visible in the orange light cast by the torches on the path that they hear shouts of “The Queen and King have returned! They have the Princess with them!”

They’re quickly escorted through the gates by a small contingent of infantry, and are greeted in the palace courtyard by two stablehands who take their horses once they dismount.

All around them, guards scurry about, runners take messages to their various posts, and her family’s personal servants are starting to buzz around them. They take outerwear and swordbelts and weaponry, and Emma is quite suddenly overwhelmed by the noise. Every well-wish uttered by one of her ladies’ maids is like a needle to her skin, every offer of assistance like a pebble in her boot.

Killian seems to notice that she’s gone tense beside him, and he reaches for her. His hand fits in hers with practiced ease.

“That’s enough,” he says quietly to the servants. “We can handle the rest ourselves.”

They look at Emma, then back to Killian, then at each other before they acquiesce; they bow before taking their leave.

Meanwhile, the King and Queen have been divested of their many accoutrements by their seasoned staff and turn towards them.

“We’ve sent word to the kitchens,” Snow says. “There will be some food waiting for us there.”

Emma wants to protest, because she is more exhausted than she can ever remember being, but her stomach quickly reminds her that her sleep isn’t the only thing that’s been neglected since she’d gone with Rumplestiltskin in the meadow.

She can also tell that her mother is dying to talk to her alone. They hadn’t had much of a chance, what with Emma’s reluctance to leave Killian’s side since they’d left the Dark One’s palace. Honestly, she still doesn’t want to part with him, both of their brushes with death leaving too deep a wound to yet be fully healed.

However, she knows that she’s been a bit selfish with her time, and her parents had been desperately worried about her too. “Sounds nice,” Emma says softly, tightening her hand around Killian’s in a silent confirmation that he’s staying with her.

She sees the tension around his eyes ease; she knows his fears about her parents’ approval, but if he thinks she’s going to tell him to go back to his ship after everything that’s happened, then he’s got another thing coming.

Their walk to the kitchens in silent, from exhaustion more than anything else, but Emma suspects that her parents don’t quite know what to say to her. There’s a lot they must want to ask.

She’s not angry that Killian told them that they were in love—it’d be silly of her to get mad about that with the circumstances, especially since they’d been planning on telling them anyway. But she made her bed when she decided to keep him a secret even after it became quite clear to her he wasn’t just a casual dalliance or a friend with benefits, and now she has to lie in it.

In the kitchen, they see a tray of brown, seedy bread, an assortment of yellow and white hard cheeses, cold smoked ham, a block of churned butter, as well as fresh sliced fruit including oranges, mangoes, and strawberries set on the small table meant for staff meals, and without much fanfare they all take seats and begin eating.

It’s an informal affair, eating with their fingers and straight off the tray. The only cutlery in sight is the knife for the butter. Emma can’t help but smile when Killian goes straight for the fruit. Despite not having much of a sweet tooth, her pirate has confessed he won’t say no to a delicacy like that when it’s put in front of him. 

Emma puts together a sandwich loaded down with ham and cheddar and butter and when she takes a bite, she damn near moans. It tastes like the best thing she’s ever had the pleasure of eating, and she’s had delicacies the realm over from the best cooks in innumerable royal kitchens.

She catches Killian’s expression out of the corner of her eye. Apparently she did not stifle the moan as well as she thought she did, and his quirked brow and suggestive smirk nearly make her laugh around her mouthful of food.

She looks across the table to where her parents appear to be having one of their silent conversations—probably trying to debate who’s going to break the silence.

Emma decides to take the leap for them. She swallows her bite of sandwich and says, “Just ask what you want to ask.”

Snow and Charming startle at her unexpected interruption, and both turn to face her with relieved looks.

Snow takes the initiative. “So where did the two of you meet?” she asks, and it comes out in a rush, as thought that question has been on the tip of her tongue since Killian announced his love for Emma in the throne room.

Killian huffs a soft laugh beside her. 

“Outside The Cat & Crow. A little ways off from the thirteenth pier,” Emma answers.

Her parents’ eyes widen at the mention of the somewhat infamous bar in the seedier part of the port district.

“A couple drunk guys followed me out,” Emma says and cocks her head to the side, “Killian saw and wanted to make sure I was okay.”

“My concern was unfounded, I might add,” Killian says, a touch of pride in his voice that warms Emma to her core. “I came upon her knocking them out with utter aplomb in an alleyway.”

Her parents still look a bit scandalized on her behalf, but they both seem comforted by Killian’s assurance.

“He offered to walk me home,” Emma continues, “and then we kind of just… kept walking.” She leaves out the enthusiastic makeout session at the end of said walk.

“You didn’t recognize her?” David asks.

Killian shakes his head. “Believe it or not, most commoners don’t make a habit of memorizing portraiture of their monarchs.” He shrugs, “Even if they did, who would expect to see the princess, the Swan of Misthaven herself, dressed down in trousers and drinking pirates twice her size under the table?”

Snow chuckles a little at that, and rubs a hand across her eyes before saying, “Oh, honey, you are more like me than I ever could’ve imagined.”

Emma is a little stunned at that. She’d heard plenty about her mother’s time as a bandit, and her parents’ turn as renegade rulers who brought down the Evil Queen, but she’s never been privy to any drinking stories. She isn’t really sure she wants to be privy to that, at any rate.

“So when did he find out that you were the princess?” David asks.

“A few months on in our acquaintance,” Killian answers.

Emma adds, “We didn’t—” She cuts herself off with a huff and tries to find the right words. Killian’s hand finds hers under the table, comforting and steadying. “We didn’t jump right into anything,” she finally says. “We were friends first. It was nice to have someone who had no idea who I was. Someone who was nice and charming because he wanted to flirt with me, not the Princess of Misthaven.”

Killian blushes. She gently elbows him, his shyness uncharacteristic but incredibly endearing. Her parents witnessed their True Love’s Kiss—it can’t be shocking to learn that their daughter’s true love flirted with her. Hell, they’d done enough light flirting on the way back that it shouldn’t come as any surprise.

“If he knew who you were all that time, then why didn’t you tell us?” Snow asked, poorly disguised anguish in her voice.

Emma bites the inside of her cheek and puts the remainder of her sandwich down on the table, not meeting her parents’ gaze.

“Did you not trust us?” her father asks, and the tone of naked hurt makes a wince zip across Emma’s face.

“Not… exactly,” she answers haltingly. “At first, I wasn’t… I don’t know, I wasn’t sure where this was going. Then it became something more--a lot more, and then I just--” She runs a frustrated hand over her hair. “Telling you would make it real. I was so scared that it would change everything, but I realized that if I kept letting my fear control me, we could never move forward.”

She looks over at Killian and finds an open expression of tenderness on his face. The confession she’d given her parents was very similar to what she’d said years ago when she’d admitted to denying her feelings for him, and she can still hear his answer ringing in her ears.

(I’m ready for it to be real, Emma. Just tell me you want this as much as I do.)

“And then we have the practical reason,” she continues, “It’s one thing to marry a shepherd, and another to marry a wanted criminal. And before you say something like ‘well, we don’t care about that,’ don’t lie. You do, at least a little. You guys have had some strong opinions about villains over the years. And I know you don’t play politics that much, but your heir courting a pirate would literally cause anarchy. I might hate it, but I pay attention to court drama. We would get eaten alive.”

Emma’s next sigh is heavy, contemplative. “I just could never see a future without having one and the other. I couldn’t tell you until I could figure out a way to have him in my life in the public eye.”

“So,” David says, “have you? Found a way.”

Emma straightens herself and puts down the remains of her sandwich. She lays out the particulars of her plan in as great detail as she can manage. She already has drafted paperwork to make the Jolly Roger an official privateer vessel of the crown of Misthaven--sealed with the crest of the Royal Family, and carefully filed into the Royal payroll. Dated a year previous than when Emma actually placed it under the Independent Contractor--Single Payment--Fulfilled category. (Here, her parents had gaped for a few seconds before Emma waved them off and said she never paid Killian for anything.) 

Then would come the commission from Misthaven’s Navy, which would be only slightly more difficult to procure. “But after our daring privateer’s heroic actions in helping to save the Princess from the much-hated Dark One,” Emma explains, “it wouldn’t be too much for the King and Queen to ask the Admiral for an official military commission for his efforts. After all, he helped us rid the whole realm of a dire threat. It would be the height of foolishness for us to allow such a valuable military asset out of our grasp,” she says, exactly how she’d say it if she was the one with the power to ask for such things.

She continues, “As an officer of the military, Killian would be far from an objectionable match for me, though I already know which members of the Court will get fussy.” She wrinkles her nose thinking about them. “Their complaints will hardly be legitimate, and I have strategies in mind to deal with any rumblings about it if the need arises.”

Snow and Charming sit frozen, looking equal parts shocked and impressed with her thoroughness.

Snow says slowly, “You’ve… certainly thought this through.”

Emma loves her parents, and she’d never tell them to their faces, but their lack of playing politics is part of what made it so easy for Regina to take over in the first place. “Someone’s got to.”

(She’s already taken the first legal steps to start stamping out his criminal record in neighboring kingdoms. In all honesty, it shouldn’t be terribly hard; Killian might be an extremely adept pirate, but his moral code does make him at the very least a respected adversary. He is lenient with crews that surrender, does not pillage or rape the way many of his contemporaries do, and is quick to take slaving ships without mercy. The ones she likely won’t be able to sort out in court are from the kingdoms doing the slaving, who Killian targets mercilessly and purposefully, but not having an amicable relationship with those places is no great loss.)

“We’ll run it by the Council,” David says, “but I don’t see any reason why they will object.”

“It’s more of a plan than I had when I married David,” Snow says.

“Good,” Emma says. “So does that cover everything?”

David and Snow share a glance. When they look back, it’s at Killian. “We still have questions for Hook--or Killian, rather.”

Emma despairs a little--she wants to go to bed. Not that spending time with her parents is a chore, exactly, but retreating to her bedroom with Killian in tow sounds like paradise at the moment. She reminds herself that she owes them this time, and stays quiet.

She looks over at him, his expression neutral and open, despite the tiredness she can see lingering at the corners of his eyes. “I’m an open book.”

They ask him how old he really is (somewhere between 200 and 300 years--he lost track in Neverland), why was he in Neverland so long (trapped in Pan’s service, and his escape cost him dearly), where was he from originally (a large kingdom called Northumber across the sea), what was his family like (his mother raised him and his eldest brother until she passed in his seventh year.) 

“What about your father?” David asks. 

Killian immediately tenses beside her, and she holds his hand a little tighter. “Not worth mentioning,” is his response.

Her parents seem to sense that this isn’t a topic that can be easily broached, so they move on.

“Emma’s plan for the two of you,” Snow says, “You are all right with it?”

“It’s well thought-out. I think it will work.”

“And you’re prepared to be consort to a future queen?” David asks.

Killian chuckles. “Admittedly, it’s not where I’d envisioned my life going.” Emma glances over to find him already looking at her. “But it’s all worth it as long as I can spend my life with her.”

David and Snow appear satisfied by his answer. “We’re glad to hear it,” David says.

“Forgive us for the inquisition,” Snow adds.

“An explanation was the least we could give,” Emma answers, then takes a deep breath. “And if you want to ask about my magic or Rumplestiltskin, then I can do my best to try to answer.”

Another shared glance between her parents. “I think maybe we should save that for another time. It’s late, and these old adventurers are ready for bed,” Snow replies with a wry smile to cover her discomfort with the topic. 

It makes Emma bristle a little, but she won’t press. She doesn’t want to cause a fight when she’s so relieved to be back home with her family, no matter the new, uncomfortable circumstance that is her magic. It’s hard to remind herself of Regina’s assurance that her parents would accept her magic eventually with their uneasiness on display in front of her.

They all rise, and Emma lets go of Killian’s hand so that she can hug her parents once more. In spite of it all, their embrace is no less tight, no less comforting, and she relaxes into their hold. You have people on your side who love you. 

“We’re so glad you’re safe,” David murmurs.

“And no matter what happens, we love you,” Snow adds.

“I love you, too.”

When they finally part, Emma steps back and takes Killian’s hand. “Come on.”

She can see her father about to protest, but he seems to decide against it and just nods.

They exchange polite goodnights, and Emma sets off towards her quarters without further backwards glance.

Their walk is quiet and quick, only disrupted by a few remaining staff who tell Emma they’re glad she’s safe and sound.

When the door finally closes behind her, Emma sags against it for only a moment before she launches herself into Killian’s arms, hugging him again. She can feel the desperation in the way his fingers clutch against her, and his lips move against her hair when he asks, “Are you okay?”

She realizes with a start no one has asked her that yet.

“I--I don’t know.” The stability of his shoulders and back under her hands is a comfort. “I got held hostage by the Dark One. I have magic. I nearly died at least a few times. I--” she pulls away from him slightly, hands running to his chest, where her fingers trip over the hole in his vest and shirt. “Gods, and you almost died, if this stupid magic thing wasn’t working or I was weaker than Rumplestiltskin or if I couldn’t open the portal and I had to kill him--”

“Emma,” Killian interrupts softly, “Slow down.”

“If I do, I’m gonna come apart at the seams.” She sounds a little hysterical; a distant realization that she doesn’t feel empowered to stop.

“You won’t. You’re made of tougher stuff than that.”

She tips her head against his collarbone, the lapel of his jacket pressing into the skin of her forehead. “Made of magic, apparently. I don’t know if that’s worse.”

“Is it really worse?”

A yes is on the tip of her tongue, but it doesn’t come out. Instead, she leans back, meets his gaze and says, “Magic nearly ruined my parents’ lives. It did, for a good chunk of their younger years. Sure, True Love’s Kiss broke my mom’s curse but if magic had never been involved, she never would’ve been cursed in the first place.

“And now I find out I have it from Rumplestiltskin of all people, and that I’m powerful enough to warrant him finding me and trying to use me?” She shakes her head and pulls out of Killian’s grasp. Absently, she begins to pace. “And then with his heart? I probably would’ve killed him if you all hadn’t stopped me and I don’t--” She huffs out a sharp breath. “I don’t even know if I would’ve regretted it. I don’t even know if I am happy I sent him to the Land Without Magic.

“And I know my parents are scared of this. My mom can’t hide anything, and my dad’s almost as bad. It’s just another thing on the list of reasons why I’m not the daughter they hoped for--”

“Hey now,” Killian says, almost scolding.

Her pacing comes to a stop in front of the fireplace. She can’t handle looking at him right now, so she stares at the flames, low and banked for the night. “It’s true.”

“Those two desperately love you. They were willing to risk their lives on the slightest chance they might’ve been able to help save you.”

“I know,” Emma swallows thickly; the poisonous thought that’s been lingering in the back of her mind needs to be spoken, and Killian is the safest repository for her darkest, sharpest insecurities. “But just because they love me doesn’t mean they’re not disappointed in me.”

“Emma.” She hears his footsteps behind her, but she doesn’t turn to face him. She crosses her arms in front of her. “Back in that castle, we didn’t force you to do anything. You chose to save him yourself. If that’s not something to be proud of, I don’t know what is.” His hand closes over her shoulder, not demanding, but a reminder that she’s not alone. “You are so, so strong. You having magic doesn’t change that.”

One of her hands comes up and closes over his where it rests on her shoulder. “You’re not disappointed are you?”

“What in the world could I have to be disappointed about?”

“Rumplestiltskin is still alive. I giftwrapped a happy ending for the man who murdered Milah.”

She can feel him step closer to her, but she can’t turn around yet.

“I let go of my vengeance long ago--I’m not sure forgiveness will ever be in the cards for me, but now that book has officially closed. He’s gone from this realm forever, and you gave an innocent boy his father back. It’s more closure than I’d ever hoped to receive. For a story that began with so much tragedy, it feels fitting for it to have a hopeful ending, no?”

He kisses the back of her head then, and she leans back into him. “I have never been more proud of you,” he whispers. “And I know your parents feel the same.”

Emma turns and kisses him. Her lips are urgent and his pliable, letting her take what she desires from him. He doesn’t wilt against her, but follows where she leads, his hook at her waist and his hand at her jaw, thumb stroking idly at the skin near her ear.

She breaks away from his lips long enough to say, “I think I just needed to hear you say it out loud.”

“I’ll say it as many times as you need me to,” he replies.

PAGE BREAK

There is, quite frankly, nothing so enjoyable as kissing Emma. Their lips slide together with practiced ease that still manages to feel new and exciting, and he can’t believe that he has the good fortune to do so for the rest of his life. He has yet to ask her to marry him, but that’s a formality at this point. They belong to each other in all the ways that truly matter.

Emma breaks away from him again, her breath hot against him, and says, “I never thought I’d have this.”

He tips his forehead against hers. “This?”

“Love,” she answers, “True love, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” he repeats playfully.

She gives him a quick peck before she continues. “I just--when I was younger, I literally couldn’t see myself marrying anyone, let alone marrying for love. I didn’t trust that anyone would actually… stick around for me.”

“You’re enough,” he murmurs, “Titles be damned, you are more than enough.”

She leans in to kiss him again, and he walks them backwards so that he can press her into the wall next to the fireplace, his hips pinning hers. Her lips open for him easily, the taste of her more intoxicating than any brew. She vibrates with a deep moan, her back arching away from the wall and into him.

“Gods, Emma,” he pants. “Do you want--”

“Yes,” she answers, “And you?”

“More than the breath in my lungs,” he answers, which makes her laugh.

“You’re dramatic.”

“But of course.” He leans in to her lips again, her jaw dropping as she permits him entry. Her hips press up into him, and the limits of their current position become quite clear. He bends slowly, trying to not have their lips part as he reaches for her thighs and lifts her. Emma’s legs go around him easily.

She huffs at the change, the way it makes their cores grind together in a better angle than before. The new position also puts her head a bit higher than his, and she takes advantage of the dominant place and kisses him with renewed vigor.

They’re forced to break away when their hips start to get ahead of them, and breathing becomes too much of a necessity.

“What happened to wanting me more than the breath in your lungs?” Emma teases, and he can tell she’s just been waiting to use that line against him.

He trails a gentle line of kisses under her jaw and down her neck, speaking between each one. “I will gladly devote myself to showing you just how well I can hold my breath in service of pleasuring you.” He looks up at her through his lashes. “If you’ll permit it?”

Her answering smile is blinding. “Yes,” she says emphatically, and that’s all he needs.

He makes sure she’s secure in his grip as he turns her away from the wall and walks them over to her bed. He lowers her with as much grace as he’s able, but he still falls on top of her. Her delighted laugh is a balm to his soul.

“Clothes off,” Emma says. “Now.”

He cocks a brow at her, and places a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. “So demanding.”

“I am the princess.”

“And what would the princess like?”

“What the pirate promised,” she answers, and he is only too happy to oblige.

He leans back to study her, a sudden smile overtaking him when he realizes that there’s no rush. They’d made love in this bed plenty of times, but this time will be different. This time, there’s no hurry or lingering fear of being caught.

He leans back far enough that he can drop his large coat to the floor. When he leans back down, he resumes kissing her--how could he not? Her hands go to the front of his vest, deftly undoing the clasps there with an ease that almost offends him--shouldn’t she be more distracted? He certainly is.

He cooperates in getting the vest off, tossing the garment behind him to join his coat on the floor. Meanwhile, Emma’s fingers dip inside his loose shirt, caressing the skin of his chest. Much as he likes the feeling of her hands on him, he’d like to return the favor.

Killian puts enough space between them that his hand can reach the buckle on the belt resting at her waist, and it’s soon tossed away. Her indigo calfskin vest is next, and he takes his time unclasping the closures. He teasingly lays light kisses down her neck, and noses the linen collar of her shirt to the side to run his tongue along her collarbone.

Emma’s hips undulate impatiently into his, and he swallows a groan. “Patience,” he says instead, and draws the backs of his fingers just over the waistband of her trousers, teasingly brushing the skin of her belly.

For all his talk about patience, he doesn’t waste much time in getting her bare from the waist up. He spends some time on her breasts, running his nose along the delicate skin and allowing his breath to wash over her nipples. They harden in the slight chill, and Emma’s breathing quickens at his teasing. Her back arches up towards him, an invitation that he gladly takes and draws a nipple into his mouth. Her answering sighs are soft and make her chest press up further into him. Her fingers go to his hair and tighten in the strands, and he moans against her. The sounds she makes in response and the gentle writhing of her body underneath his goes straight to his cock, but he can wait.

He leaves her breasts after they’re flushed red and both of her nipples are wet with his saliva and standing stiff. Gods, she is beautiful, chest heaving and green eyes pleading with him to get a move on.

He smiles up at her, dragging his stubble down her belly, detouring to her ribcage and pressing his lips where her bones press into her skin. When he reaches the waistband of her trousers, he nudges it down with his chin just enough that he can kiss low on her belly.

They work together to take off her boots, then her pants, leaving her fully naked. With a wink, Killian grasps behind her knees and pulls her hips to the edge of the mattress. “Show me,” he murmurs, and kisses one of her knees. Emma props herself up on her elbows, eyes boring into his as she drops her knees open. Her hair mussed, her breasts flushed, her wet cunt fully on display--she is the image of debauchery and vulnerability.

“You were saying something about showing off your impressive breath control?” she asks, perfectly innocent, but the wicked smile ruins it.

He winks at her before slowly dropping to his knees. Emma slides her legs over his shoulders, pressing her heels into his back in a silent invitation forwards. She stays propped up on one elbow, her other hand traveling downwards. She makes a cheeky pass over her clit, teasing herself. Her mouth drops open, a quiet exhale, as she makes a tight circle with her fingers, but Killian growls, and reaches up to grasp her hand and pull her away.

Without breaking eye contact, he ditches his plan to tease and goes straight in. His tongue runs along the seam of her, the wetness there making his pass slick and easy. Just one-two passes and then he zeroes in on her clit, just a lick at first, and her hips jump when he catches the very tip of her.

He shifts so that his left arm can wrap around her thigh, his hook resting just on her pubic bone. He gives her one last lick before he fastens his lips down and sucks hard, and Emma’s answering moan makes him thrust his hips into the bed, his cock desperate for friction. He sucks her once, twice, thrice, before backing off, languidly kissing her, letting his tongue run across her sex with practiced ease.

Although, no matter how many times he’s had the pleasure of tasting her, he can’t help but notice how beautiful Emma is when she’s ignited with pleasure. Her eyes are dark as they meet his across the expanse of her belly, and the fact that she wants to watch him makes him thrust fruitlessly into the side of the mattress again, and he moans against her clit. She answers with her own groan, and Killian giddily thinks that this is it--nirvana, heaven, the afterlife, whatever form paradise might take--it’s right here between her legs. Being with her, enjoying her, pleasuring her, making her smile and gasp and moan and grip his hair--this is their life now.

He starts to pick up the pace of his sucking--going longer, harder, more frequent--and even if he couldn’t hear her, her hips trying to ride his face would be a clear indicator that she’s drawing closer to that precipice. She’s strong, pressing up against his left arm in a forceful rhythm. He lets go of her hand long enough to frantically unscrew his hook so the force of her thrusts don’t make him accidentally puncture her with it, and he throws it towards where his jacket lay. He straightens himself up a bit, and presses his now-hookless forearm into her hips, effectively pinning her to the bed.

“Gods,” she murmurs, “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Killian almost laughs.

He’s sucking her clit almost constantly now, and her thighs are shaking on either side of his head. Her eyes have closed, her head has tipped back in ecstasy. Aborted thoughts spill out around her small moans and heavy breaths, a myriad of gods and fucks and gods, right there. He grabs her hand again, trying to bring her back to him.

Her eyes find his again, frantically wide. “Killian,” comes next, breathy and light, “please don’t stop. Please--”

He groans against her core. Fuck, if Emma begging doesn’t make him rock hard.

While he’s sucking at her clit, he dips his tongue to lick at the very tip of her, and the answering sound she makes it high-pitched and loud, an unfamiliar keen, almost a squeal, that nearly makes him come on the spot. Killian has to break away from her core and press his forehead to her thigh, focusing on keeping his breathing even.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before,” he says breathlessly, and then looks back up at her.

She looks a bit startled. “I don’t think I’ve ever made that sound before.” She laughs breathlessly. “Maybe true love sex is better than normal sex?”

He smiles and kisses the damp skin of her thigh. “Well, the only point of comparison we’d have is your parents, so if you want to ask--”

She groans. “Oh my god, do not talk about my parents right now.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t stop?” she asks, and he grins.

“Of course not, darling.”

He shows no mercy after that. The high-pitched keen doesn’t make a reappearance, but Emma’s volume grows with each determined swipe of his tongue and focused suck with his lips. She’s close, her hips pressing up violently against his arm, her fingers tight on his hand, a litany of praises and pleas spilling from her lips. Please, Killian, please, I’m so close, gods, fuck, so good, please don’t stop, please--

Emma isn’t much of a screamer--only when it’s perfect, and only if she’s feeling particularly giving because she knows how much he likes it when she’s loud--but it’s a near thing on this one, her voice going hoarse as she shouts her pleasure to the ceiling. He pushes her through it with lips and tongue, gentler, slower, letting her float down from her high. He almost has to stop again, the taste of her, the feel of her unraveling under his touch almost too much for him to bear.

She lets herself fall back down on the mattress, the arm that was supporting her going limp, and she says on a sated laugh, “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Killian places one last kiss against her sensitive core, red and swollen and soaking from his touch, and she twitches.

“Love you, too,” he answers softly. He rises, letting her legs fall from his shoulders. She reaches for him, pulling him down to kiss her. She moans softly at the taste of herself on him.

When he pulls back, she combs the hair back from his forehead. “Now can I get you naked?” Emma asks.

He snorts. “Still not satisfied?”

She grins up at him. “Oh, very. But--” she looks meaningfully down at the tent in his trousers, “--I think I could be more satisfied, don’t you think?”

He smirks at her, and nods toward the head of the bed. “Lie back for me, love.”

He begins to strip quickly and efficiently, and is pleased to find her hungrily watching him. She’s propped up against a pillow, a fingertip resting on her lip, and by the time he’s dropped his brace and is completely bared, another is running light circles around one of her nipples.

“Bloody hell,” he whispers, and hastily joins her on the bed.

He settles on top of her, enjoying the feeling of her thighs stretching around his hips. His cock feels as though it’s been hard for hours, and when it slides over the wet lips of her cunt he nearly loses himself, a pained groan escaping him and shakes going through his whole body. Emma’s hands come up to his cheeks, bringing his eyes back to hers. “Easy, tiger,” she says, and leans up to leisurely kiss him. He exhales through his nose as he leans into the kiss.

His hips start to move of their own accord, picking up a slow and steady rhythm of rutting against her.

“You feel so good,” Emma says between kisses, and he groans.

“Gods, Emma.” He could laugh at his staying power. “I’m not even inside you yet and I’m already on the edge.”

As he kisses down her neck, she says, “I’m definitely not against you fucking me so hard and fast we break the bed.”

He groans again. “You can’t say things like that to me right now.”

She combs her hand through his hair again, her nails lightly scraping his scalp and letting him gather himself.

“This’ll be the first time I’ve ever been able to fuck you in this bed as slow as I damn well please,” he says.

He must catch her clit on one of his strokes, because Emma jolts underneath him, and she gasps sharply. “Want to talk about it some more?” she asks.

He chuckles. “Not particularly, no.”

Emma reaches down, hand wrapping around his cock and nudging the head of him to her entrance. He props himself up enough so that he can look down at her face. Her mouth drops open, eyelashes fluttering, as he pushes slowly inside, the stretch of her around him exquisite. He could’ve thrust all the way in one hard push with how wet she is, but instead he stutters his hips, gently working his way inside until their hips are flush. She clenches around him when he’s fully seated, and his forehead drops to hers.

“Fuck, Emma,” he moans. “So good.” Fuck, she feels incredible, wet, tight heat consuming him and sending sparks up his spine.

He needs the taste of her as he begins to move in deeper, fuller strokes, drinking from her lips like a man parched. Emma’s movements counter his, pressing her hips up to meet him, but she lets him dictate the pace. She lifts her legs up to wrap around his waist, allowing him to sink into her at a new angle.

As they slowly and tenderly fuck, he simply enjoys being with her--he’s not one to think much about his own mortality, but it’s starting to hit him that he almost lost this forever. Emma almost lost him, and if things hadn’t gone their way, she’d be mourning now. He doesn’t want to think about that world, where he might have forced Emma to go on without him. The slow connection of their bodies, the deep kisses, the heady eye contact, it’s an intimate connection, tangible evidence that they are both here, both alive, and they will have a future.

He laughs with the sheer joy of it. “Gods, I love you.”

“I know,” Emma whispers, “Gods, I know.”

He picks up the pace then, giving her a bit of that hard and fast that she’d wanted before, though certainly not hard and fast enough to break the bed. Emma makes these gorgeous sounds, pants and moans and words of praise, and he can’t stop himself from making some noise of his own.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, and drops his head to suck a mark onto her neck. “So wet, so warm for me.”

“Fuck,” is Emma’s shaky answer, and her walls flutter around him in a way that makes him groan before he continues.

“Do you feel it love? How good we feel together?”

“Yes,” she answers, “I--fuck--I love how we feel together.”

Gods, and he can hear the sound of how wet she is, the sound of her body welcoming him in. “Touch yourself,” he says, and Emma is quick to oblige, her hand darting down to where they’re joined, and she tightens like a vise when she reaches her clit. He manages to not finish then and there like an inexperienced cabin boy, and he ducks his head so he can watch her.

Her hand is rubbing in quick back and forth motions over her clit--she’s close. Her cunt is tightening sporadically around him, her voice getting that much louder and more wanton with every thrust.

She’s so beautiful, so amazing, so incredible, this woman he loves, and he kisses her again because he can’t not. 

Her fingers slide over him, feeling where they’re connected and Killian knows he’s not going to last much longer. “Please, please, please,” he whimpers against her lips. “Come on, Emma, come on, love, come for me.”

Her fingers pick up the pace on her clit, and he can feel her straining for it, reaching for her peak. He goes harder, faster, forgetting about his promise to fuck her slowly because he needs to see her come, needs to feel her release around him.

He braces himself on his left arm, and his hand goes down to where hers rubs frantically. He slides his fingers between hers, feels the wet flesh underneath their fingertips, and presses down as hard as he dares to go on her clit. “Come on, love,” he says again, and this time she does.

Emma has beautiful orgasms--she cries out and tosses her head back, her breasts press up into his chest, her skin glistens with sweat, her eyes close and her mouth drops wide open as he fucks her through it. Her cunt clamps around him and he doesn’t hold himself back anymore. He grasps her hip, fingers still slick with her, and drives into her a handful more times before he too is coming. 

For a brief moment, he can feel magic again, just like when they’d broken Emma’s curse. His whole world is reduced to where he is touching her, and the sheer depth of feeling he has for her becomes all he knows, all he can think. The love, the ecstasy, the sheer euphoria drowns out everything else.

When he comes back to himself, he’s kissing her, slow and sweet, his thumb stroking her hip and her hands are on his cheeks.

He takes a moment to enjoy the afterglow, but his cock is slowly softening inside her, so he carefully pulls himself out before rolling to his side next to her.

He then notices that the fire that had been very low and nearly reduced to coals when they first entered the room, is now blazing. He chuckles. At Emma’s look, he nods past her towards the fireplace. “Should I withhold my comment on our ‘burning hot chemistry?’”

She looks over at where the flames, regardless of the lack of fuel, are blazing warmly. He worries briefly that this will reignite her insecurities about her magic, but instead, she laughs, one of her hands going to cover her eyes.

“We’re gonna need to try to put that out,” she says. “Way too big for a nighttime fire.”

“It’s magic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it won’t, you know, accidentally light the rug on fire.”

She moves to get up, presumably to tame the fire she’d started (and if he feels a little smug for making her lose control like that, then he can hardly be blamed), but he catches her elbow before she can.

“What? I have to go clean up anyway,” she says.

“I’ll grab a cloth for you,” he says, “but you should try to put it out from here.”

“What?”

“You started it from here, didn’t you?” he answers. He rolls off the bed, despite the wobble in his knees, and goes over to her vanity where a bowl of water and a cloth lay. He uses them to clean himself up before he dips the cloth in the water and wrings it out again and brings it back over to her. She’s been watching him carefully, and he smiles at her.

“You can do it, love, I’m sure of it.” He holds out the cloth for her. She takes it and cleans herself quickly.

“Thanks,” she says softly before handing it back to him. He replaces it on the vanity before he returns to the bed.

“I might not know much about magic,” he says, “but I know you.”

She bites her lip before she says, “Okay, fine.” Emma sits up and scoots herself to the edge of the bed, eyes focused on the fireplace. “See it,” she murmurs to herself. 

He comes up behind her, unsure if he should distract her, but if she lit it while he was touching her, surely touching her will help her put it out? He puts his arms around her waist, and she leans back against him.

Her hand goes out, and she slowly lowers it. The fire lowers with the motion of her hand, and she gasps.

“See?” he says, pride blooming in his chest. “I told you so.”

She brings her hand back and stares at her palm for a moment before she says, “I did that.”

In a move he wasn’t expecting she veritably tackles him back to the bed and kisses him like she plans on going for another round.

“Not that I’m complaining, darling,” he says when she breaks away once the need for air becomes urgent, “but if you plan on another round, then you’ll be flying solo, because--”

“No, I’m--” She smiles, but it’s not a post-coital teasing smile, it’s something warmer, something deeper. “I’m more than satisfied. I’m just… I’m happy. I’m really happy, and it’s because of you.”

“A fair exchange then,” Killian replies, “because so am I.”

They draw back the covers of the bed and snuggle into its depths. Emma’s back fits nicely against his chest (“You got to be the little spoon last time.”) and their day starts to catch up with them, their eyes drooping.

With softness surrounding him on all sides, Killian realizes, “This will be the first time I actually get to sleep in this bed.”

Emma chuckles, and cuddles back further into him. “The first of many,” she replies, and Killian can’t help but feel settled. Certain.

This is real. They’re doing this.

Starting tomorrow, they can finally, finally, step into their future.