#love how emma comments on 'your brow is slightly less furrowed than before' like yeah just slightly. it is in a chronic state of furrowment

[amygdalae]

Sekiro's resting existential malaise face never gets old to me. yeah this guys so so tired and has the hardest job ever he was raised by mean geriatric assassins and he kills 500 people every morning before breakfast (and his breakfast is a handful of loose uncooked rice and a single persimmon)

[gohyuck]

this is the teaser for part 2 of greaser jeno. read part 1 here 

warnings for the teaser: smoking, mentions of crimes, he blows smoke into the reader’s face because that was ‘sexy’ in the 1950s, talks about putting his cigarette out on the reader’s skin, they fuck in front of a mirror in the scene after this one <3

note: ‘L&M’ is a cigarette brand, when it talks about Jeno’s L&M it’s talking about his cigarette he’s currently smoking

teaser word count: 2.6k

estimated word count for part 2: 10-12k

estimated release date for part 2: january 5th

once again, read part 1 here!

“So you just… stole your neighbor’s cat?” You raise an eyebrow, keeping eye contact as best you can while taking a bite out of the slightly stale granola bar in your hand. Even with crumbs at the corner of your mouth, your impressed expression shines through. 

“The fuckface was beatin’ the poor thing,” Jeno shrugs, though you think you see a hint of a smile. “What else was I gonna do? Leave her there? Anyways, she was an aged thing. Ol’ girl died a couple years later, but they were some good years. Wrench was well loved.”

“You named your cat Wrench?!” The exclamation is more excited than you mean for it to be. Jeno really does smile this time, finally taking a bite out of his own granola-bar-dinner before nodding. He reaches a hand up to run it through his hair, and you can’t help but let your gaze linger on his razor sharp jawline, or the beautiful slope of his nose. By the time he looks back at you, you’ve turned your head away. 

“What about you?” He eventually asks, and you’re relieved at the fact that he’s even trying to maintain the conversation. Jeno’s always seemed untouchable, so his softer, maybe even kinder side is more than a little new to you. You feel like you’ve dug deep, and whether it’s on purpose or by accident, you’ve found something. 

He’s looking intently at you. You haven’t answered yet. 

“What about me?” 

“Any pets? Cats, dogs, fish… humans.” He smirks slightly, and you’re struck by the change in the Jeno who’d driven you here to the Jeno in front of you. Brooding versus almost… bright. Maybe even brash, it seems. The famed Jeno Lee with his Chuck Taylors and pocket knife. You wonder if he’s even still dwelling on the circumstances that have led the two of you to this moment. Sharing granola bars on the living room floor of the cabin had allowed it to slip from your own mind at first. 

You still haven’t answered, looking like you’re mulling his question over. It feels like you’ve waited just a little too long to answer, somehow. Jeno’s smile slips a little, gaze darts over to the nearest window for a second. His left hand taps out a rhythmic beat on his left thigh, and you remember that he’s got every right to be nervous.

“Well, I -” You start, only to be immediately interrupted. 

“Do you mind if I - oh, shit, sorry,” Jeno starts off strong, falling into a murmur quickly once he realizes that he’s cut you off. You give him what you hope is an encouraging smile - a signal to go on - and he returns an almost imperceptible nod. “Do you mind if I smoke while we talk? I don’t know if -”

“I don’t.” You cut him off, though by the way he looks at you right after, he’s grateful for you doing so. He nods, casting his eyes away from yours, busying himself with pulling out his cigarettes - L&M, judging by the packaging - and lighter. When had he finished his granola bar? You hadn’t noticed, but the wrapped is empty, crumpled at his feet. 

“We used to have a dog,” You start, thinking back to when you’d been young, barely in middle school. “Kevin. Big golden retriever, loved chicken and chasing bigger dogs during walks. He died a couple years ago, but I really do miss him constantly.”

“He sounds like he was wonderful,” Jeno mumbles, unlit L&M between his slightly pursed lips. You watch a little too intently as he flicks his lighter open, allows the flames to dance against the end of his cigarette. He puts the lighter away once he’s done, shoving it far into his front pocket. You suppose he doesn’t mind the heat against his skin. Jeno inhales roughly, and when he pulls the cigarette from his mouth to exhale smoke by positioning it in between his index and middle fingers, you finally notice how much he’s shaking. You don’t comment on it. He continues. “I have to ask, though… Kevin?” 

“Kevin,” You nod sagely, looking back up at his face even though your eyes seem to want to stay trained on the cigarette. “Johnny named him, I was a little too young to do it. As for human ‘pets’... Lucas, was one. Yangyang too. I had a brief thing for Jungwoo, too, but we ended up being far too... similar on some things it seemed necessary for us to be polar opposites on.” 

Neither you nor Jungwoo had wanted to take charge in bed, but Jeno doesn’t need to know that. Judging from the small eyebrow raise he affords you, though, he already has an idea. He says nothing, as if he’s waiting for you to go on, but you don’t really have much else to tell him. You don’t even know how much he wants to know. 

“You?” You settle for asking, though you don’t quite know why. Jeno’s sexual history had been practically broadcasted at school - you don’t look like that without repercussions. You know more about him than you need to, but maybe not as much as you want to. 

“Everyone knows who I’ve fucked.” Jeno chuckles, taking another drag from his cigarette. You lick your lips unconsciously when your gaze falls to his lips as he blows smoke out, away from you. It seems like the cigarette is making him less nervous, less shaky. Less tuned in to the fact that he’s currently on the run. “Yangyang, too. Lacey, Adrija, Katie, Yeonjun, Evan, Riley, Emma, Jess. That’s the list, I think. I wouldn’t call them pets - well, not all of them, at least - but… yeah. That’s the list.” 

“Yangyang, Lacey…” You mull them over out loud, going silent as you process the list. “Emma.. J- wait, Jess?”

Jeno winces. Takes another drag. Nods. 

“When did you - Jess, like, Jess and Johnny, Jess?” You sputter out the words, eyes widening slightly. Jeno lets out a sigh, breathes in and out again, and, finally, nods once more. From the way he’s acting, you don’t even have to ask about the timeline of him and Jess. 

Jess, who’s like an older sister to you, cheating on Johnny, your big brother - your big brother who’s a criminal, apparently - with Jeno, who Johnny’s framing for robbery and maybe a dozen other things right now. It’s like a poorly written Shakespearean comedy.

Maybe it’s a tragedy. You don’t know yet. 

“She loves him very much, she- she truly does. I’ve never seen Jess so damn happy with anyone before, and we’ve been friends since we were in diapers ‘n all that. I swear.” Jeno puts his hand out for a second as if he’s trying to prove something, but he draws back when he finds that there’s nothing to prove. You furrow your brow and squint at him, scrutinizing him for a moment, before sighing and turning away. 

“Finding out that my brother’s being cheated on by the only girlfriend of his I’ve ever liked is probably the least insane thing that’s happened to me today,” You ultimately say, and you swear you hear Jeno let out a soft exhale of relief at this. Even if you aren’t his ideal company, you’re company nonetheless. “I’ll live with it.”

He can’t say anything else to this, so he nods, looking a little more peaked than he had before. You suppose his inadvertent confession of what him and Jess have been up to bothers him more than he’s letting on. It bothers you more than it lets you on. 

It really is the least of your worries, though. You can’t help but analyze everything inside your mind: is Jeno telling the truth? Although you don’t know each other too well, you’re inclined to believe him. What will you do if he’s lied about everything and you really have essentially been kidnapped? No, that seems unlikely. On top of that, if Jeno’s truthful - and he seems to be - then Johnny’s far worse that you’d thought. Sure, you have your issues with your brother, but he’s still your brother. The idea that he’s so terrible is horrifying to you. You share a house with that man. 

If he’s capable of robbing the diner you work - worked? - at, putting Jaemin in the hospital, and framing in Jeno, all within a night, what else is he capable of? Has he always been like this? You’d always thought the Doyoung and Taeyong mess he’d gotten himself into years back had been what had changed him for the worse. What if your perceptions are incorrect? What if he’s always been terrible? What if… What if he’d framed those two boys back then? What if they were innocent?

Johnny wouldn’t do that, right? 

Right?

As you mull everything you’ve ever known over in your mind, only just beginning to process the situation you’re in, the conversation dies out, put out like a cigarette. Neither of you had bothered to close the curtains on any of the windows, so moonlight streams in, darkening shadows and shedding light on the two of you. It traces around his exposed biceps, his proud chin, the veins underneath his skin. Jeno always looks just a little out of this realm, but the silvery light against his skin paired with the smoke that’s curling in the air beside him both serve to make him seem even more untouchable. The Jeno you’ve always seen, but never touched. 

It’s only when he drops what’s left of the cigarette to the ground and lifts his leg up to crush the butt under the heel of his boot that you realize you haven’t been staring into space, but rather at Jeno’s L&M. If he’s noticed, he says nothing, only pulling his lighter and the packet out to light up yet another cigarette. The fact that he doesn’t ask this time is not ignored by you. 

Once he’s done lighting it and has taken a good drag from it, Jeno finally puts his lighter away again and looks up at you. His smile this time is apologetic, but you aren’t sure why. 

“You’ve been lookin’ at it all night,” He says, voice softer than you could’ve imagined coming from him. He gestures lightly with the cigarette before putting it back against his - admittedly plush looking - lips. “Wanna try?”

“I…” You blink a couple times, not sure why you’re so blindsided by the question. Maybe it’s the drop in his voice, the raspiness that comes with his lowered volume. Jeno’s one of the more respectful men - then boys - from your high school, but he still lives up to the reputation he’s got. A guy like Jeno Lee doesn’t ask you to try a cigarette with him for no reason. 

To be fair, who else is he gonna ask right now?

When you don’t answer outright, Jeno smiles slightly. He isn’t shaking anymore, you notice, but you think you might be. Funny how the night changes. The man in front of you takes another drag, leans in ever-so-slightly, and blows his smoke gently towards you. It’s practiced, precise: he doesn’t go directly for your nose, or your mouth. The smoke and the air tickle the side of your face, and the sensation almost makes you forget how close Jeno suddenly is to you. 

He knows he has the upper hand, likely because he’s just created said upper hand. You can’t say you don’t like it. You don’t lean away.

“Classy, Jeno Lee,” You muster up the ability to speak. His lips are still by your cheek. His breath is warm against your skin, but it doesn’t disgust you in the way you feel like it should. “You could be going to prison soon and you’re still trying to get your dick wet.”

It’s a harsh thing to say, but you know that you could say anything in the moment and he wouldn’t take it to heart. The push and pull you’ve been wanting since high school is there. Jeno leans back, takes another drag and blows up rather than at you again, seemingly marvelling at the way the tendrils of smoke dance and then disappear, dispersing around the two of you. The newfound tension should feel sudden, but you think that it might’ve been coming since he’d discovered you in the Bel Air’s backseat. 

Now that you’ve hidden him away at the cabin, anything could happen. Tomorrow, Jeno could drop you off at some gas station or bus stop and drive away forever, running away from a past that is chasing him at double the speed. Tomorrow, you could turn him in for the car theft. You’re sure that’s what he’s thinking, anyways. Jeno shifts so his empty hand is in front of him, so he can put his weight on it to get right back up close and personal to you. 

“I always did like when you wore these skirts to school,” He ignores your statement entirely, dark eyes flitting down to your bare legs. “Never said anything ‘bout it because I’m nothin’ if not respectful. That, and your brother would’ve killed me if I’d tried to get at you.”

“My brother’s not around right now.” You say, and the lilt of your voice makes it seem like you’re posing a challenge. Maybe you are. To be entirely fair, you aren’t thinking too straight, but you blame that on the fact that you’re aiding and abetting a fugitive who happens to, at least at the moment, seem almost like sex on legs. Jeno’d looked so scared and afraid earlier at the gas station. When had that changed? 

The Jeno across from you is cocksure, hands steady even when they hadn’t been minutes ago. Perhaps the gravity of his situation has finally hit. He’s either not thinking at all, or he’s thinking the clearest he has all night. 

“No,” Jeno agrees, finally, finally placing a hand on your bare thigh, right above your knee and right at where your skirt has ridden up. “No, he isn’t. It’s just us tonight, princess, isn’t it?” 

“You’ve done a whole 360,” You respond, not shying away from his touch. His hand is so warm against your skin. You want Jeno to engulf you. “Why’s that?” 

“Could be going to prison soon,” He shrugs, and his eyes darken with something unreadable. Something almost… sad. Jeno ignores himself, explaining further, voice teasing. “Might as well get my dick wet.”

It hits you then, his real reasoning. Before thinking, you place your hand on top of his, gentle, as kind as you can muster. 

“You want to use me to forget?” You ask, your touch imploring that his eyes seek yours out. They do, and when you look into them, you know that you’re right. He’s left his entire life behind because of your brother. Of course he needs some use from you. Jeno stares at you staring at him for one, two beats before looking away. He doesn’t respond, but you don’t need him to. 

“How do you feel about me putting my cigarette out on you? Ash against your pretty skin?” He asks, voice sultry but guarded. You wonder if this is how he seduced everyone on his list. You only have tonight. Neither of you know what tomorrow could bring. You move your hand off of his, only to slowly pull your skirt higher along your thigh. Jeno’s eyes follow the new path of exposed skin, hungry for something you could never comprehend.

“Pick anywhere,” Your words are barely above a whisper now. “After all, you’re in charge.”

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[welllpthisishappening]

Four Eyes

I’ve still got prompts. I’m still filling prompts. Because I hate not responding when very nice people request fic. So here are some more words. That gif only goes with this story because Emma continues to be super attracted to her increasingly old husband. And his glasses. @technicallysizzlingcloud​ asked for a fic where Emma falls for Killian’s eyes and this is...kind of that. Would it be a prompt by me if I didn’t only half follow the prompt?

So, here we’ve got nearly six-thousand words of semi-plotless fluff, F. Scott Fitzgerald references, interventions, Snow White, and kissing. I am who I am.

Also in Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

----

Honestly, the whole thing is kind of Hope’s fault.

And Emma does, in fact, realize that blaming her six-year-old is a little absurd and, overall, kind of rude, but well, it is.

Because Hope cannot see the blackboard.

Emma’s mom mentions it one night, an off-handed comment about squinting eyes and their tendency to cause headaches and bad grades and it might not be a bad idea to make an appointment and Emma hadn’t even realized there was an optometrist in Storybrooke, but apparently Victor knows a guy and the guy is from the Land of Untold Stories and--

Hope gets glasses.

From Dr. Eckleburg.

Who is actually a very nice man. He doesn’t mention the diminishing returns of the American dream once.

And that’s also kind of absurd, but Emma’s been running on metaphorical fumes for a week and she has got to find someone else to blame for all of this besides her six-year-old.

She can’t. Because her six-year-old really did need glasses and that required an eye exam with Dr. Eckleburg and that eye exam ended with Killian squinting at a slightly antiquated sheet of paper with letters he also couldn’t read.

“Who could even see these?” he mutters, leaning against the wall of the room with his feet crossed at the ankles. Hope’s perched on Emma’s legs, her lips twisted into something that feels far too familiar because she’s not all that interested in getting glasses.

“You’ve got to sit still, kid,” Emma mumbles, and Killian’s eyes are impossibly narrow. “And I think most people can read almost all the letters, babe. That’s why this is the test.”

“Well, that’s absurd.”

“Can you not read the letters on the bottom of the thing?”

Killian quirks an eyebrow. “Do you not know the name for this particular exam, Swan?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“What’s the name of this?”

“No, no, no, I asked first.” Hope squirms again, apparently determined to prove how many limbs she has, and Emma has to tighten both her arms around her middle to ensure she’s not inadvertently elbowed in the stomach. That would do something else to Killian’s eyes. “Those are the rules,” Emma adds, but those words only cause Killian’s lips to twitch slightly and this is not going according to plan.

“It’s fine.”

“Try that one more time.”

“Fine,” Killian repeats, complete with a rather determined head nod that stopped working somewhere like two kids and several curses ago. Hope’s left foot collides with Emma’s thigh. “C’mere, you little sea monster,” Killian mutters, hauling Hope over his shoulder and it takes her approximately four seconds to dissolve into a laughter that makes every single inch of Emma’s soul rise up in something akin to joy.

It’s admittedly a weird feeling to have in Dr. Eckleburg’s office.

She always hated that book.

Far too many metaphors.

“You’ve got to stop twitching so much,” Killian continues, ducking his head to press against Hope’s neck and that works about as well as Emma expected it to. Which is to say that it does not work. She keeps laughing and smiling and for a second Emma forgets about her husband’s eyes, but then those same eyes flicker back towards the sign and—

“Read that second to last line,” Emma mutters, fully prepared for the slight glare she gets in return. Hope stops laughing.

“Can’t you see too?” she whispers, leaning back until she’s practically arched against Killian’s forearms and the consistent similarities between Hope Swan-Jones and an actual sea monster are almost astounding.

Killian’s tongue darts between his lips, a clench to his jaw that Emma is impossibly familiar with. He takes a deep breath, slow enough that his shoulders shift with the force of it and—“I don’t want to get glasses,” Hope adds. Emma’s whole soul…shatters. Or something. Possibly something less dramatic.  

“I don’t think that’s entirely negotiable, little love,” Killian reasons, but that only gets another pointed twist of lips and a nose scrunch that Emma’s really starting to find kind of offensive. It is incredibly off-putting to see her own mannerisms reflected back on her kid.

Hope huffs, brows furrowing until there’s a rather obvious pinch between them and it takes Emma longer than she’d like to actually stand up. She lets her fingers ghost over the back of Hope’s shirt, fabric rumpling underneath it and she’s really not all that surprised by what happens next.

“Alright,” Killian continues, “what if I try and read that last line—”

“—You can’t read that last line,” Emma mumbles, resting her chin on her hand and Killian rolls his eyes.

“If I try and read that last line with whatever this doctor’s name is…”

“Seriously, this is not helping.”

Hope laughs again. It’s loud and honest and somehow still some kind of tinkling noise that Emma is certain works under her skin and wraps around most of her joints and several different internal organs, settling into a rhythm with her pulse and she’s going to blame all these metaphors on F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Like a normal person.

“I will try and read those last few lines,” Killian says, Emma’s jaw dropping just a bit with that last addendum. “Do not, Swan.”

“Did I say a word?”

“You’re doing that thing with your face, love.”

“What thing?” Hope asks brightly, any fear of glasses forgotten in banter that is also impossibly old and somehow just as easy as ever. Even if Emma is a little worried about the consistently failing eyesight of her family.

She hopes Henry can see when he travels between realms.

“That thing,” Killian says, nodding in Emma’s general direction. She smiles. He shakes his head. “And, aye, the last few lines. So—” He shrugs, another deflection that makes something spark in the back of her brain, but it’s gone almost as soon as Dr. Eckleburg comes back with a prescription for Hope and questions from Killian and, so, Captain Hook, scourge of several different seas and deputy of the All-Realm, who still makes at least half of the dwarves cower in something close to fear, gets reading glasses.

Bifocals, technically.

And it consistently and constantly messes with Emma’s head.

He looks stupid attractive in reading glasses.

Bifocals, technically.

It's been a week since the appointment and something like seventy-two hours since he did some stupid thing where he used his hook to push the glasses back up the bridge of his nose and Emma is having a difficult time coping. Like, at all.

Hope’s glasses are pink. She also looks adorable. It almost makes Emma forget that this is, in fact, all her fault. Maybe they should have discussed Lasik. Or spells.

There’s got to be a spell to fix eye sight.

“If you down anymore tea, I’m going to report you,” Ruby says, leaning over the counter until her elbows are resting on fiberglass and Emma does her best not to scowl. It does not work.

That is an oddly frustrating theme for her recently.

“I am paying for this,” Emma points out. “That means I get to drink however much I want.”

“Does it though?”

“Capitalism or whatever.”

“Yeah, yeah, following up with whatever definitely proved your point. What’s your deal?”

“I have no deal.”

“You have at least two deals that I can think of, but I’m willing to guess that the list goes all the way up to ten and I’d really love to streamline this conversation.”

Emma barely gets her mouth open, not entirely sure what she’s going to say but it is going to be something before the door to her right swings open and the bell does whatever a bell does. Rings. Incessantly. Ariel marches into the diner with a smile on her face and a kid hanging off her side and both Elsa and Mulan look like they’re desperately trying not to laugh.

It's a courtesy Ruby does not share. She throws her whole head back when she cackles, an arm around her middle and smile stretching across her face until Emma is tempted to make several jokes about wolves. She doesn’t. Mostly because she actually hates tea.

That’s definitely, like, thing number four on her list.

It's not as important as the eye glasses thing.

“Did you do this?” Emma asks, Ruby’s head snapping forward quickly enough that for a second, she genuinely believes she’s going to bite her. She doesn’t. She flashes what may actually be too many teeth for an average human, but her jaw stays still and the hint of laughter lingering at the corners of her mouth is also frustrating.

“Are you kidding me?”

“You’re telling me this all just happened—what? Suddenly? Spontaneously?”

“Well, not totally,” Ariel admits, and Emma makes some kind of noise that she hopes sounds like triumph. It just hurts the back of her throat.

Ruby holds both hands up in mock surrender. “I knew they were going to be here after the meeting.”

“There was a meeting?” Emma asks. Elsa makes her own noise, a click of her tongue and quick bump of her shoulder against Emma’s.

“Your mom wanted to talk about trade negotiations or something. It wasn’t…you really didn’t have to be there. I didn’t want to be there.”

“I have no idea what is going on.”

“You know who was there?” Ruby asks, clearly far more in control of the conversation than any of them. Emma blinks. “Your husband. Who you’ve been gawking at. For days.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you not know the meaning of the word gawk?”

“I need more tea.”

“No, I’m cutting you off.”

“You know that has caffeine in it too,” Elsa reasons, and Emma rolls her whole head in response. She does not look all that surprised. “I’m just saying. Anyway, can we focus here because—”

“—Killian’s freaking out,” Ariel cuts in, voice rising on every letter and that’s not really what Emma expected. But then again she didn’t expect both her kid and her husband to need glasses at the same time and she probably should have realized she’d be into the glasses thing.

She’s kind of…into everything that has to do with her husband.

It's ridiculous.

But, like, in a romantic way.

“Well, that was subtle,” Mulan mutters, dropping onto the stool next to Emma and ignoring Ruby’s shouts of indignation when she leans over the counter to grab the baked goods stashed just underneath. “Please, you are very bad at hiding things.”

“Much like Captain Killian Jones,” Ariel adds. “Please, be impressed by that.”

Emma tilts her head. “By what…exactly?”

“My ability to keep the conversation focused. You know your mom tried to show us a video of your brother and Hope riding a bike no less than twenty-six times. It’s a miracle we ever get anything done.”

“Yeah, but she feeds you so…”

“I feel like I should be offended by that,” Ruby muses. She’s leaning against the container behind her, head resting on the door and the light in it makes her hair look almost phosphorescent. Emma clearly needs to get some more sleep.

She’s a little annoyed her mom didn’t invite her to the meeting.

“No one should be offended by anything,” Elsa says. “That’s the point of this.”

“And this is, what?” Emma asks. “An intervention?”

“That sounds very aggressive.”

“Which is not what we’re doing,” Mulan adds, but it’s difficult to take that promise seriously when most of the words get caught in the blueberry muffin she’s eating.

Elsa clicks her tongue again. “It’s not. Also, your mom had a reason for not inviting you. Aside, from well—you know…”

“Killian knows how to get everywhere,” Ariel interrupts, only to be met by several exasperated sounds. Emma makes a gesture at Ruby, an unspoken command for her own blueberry muffin that gets her a rather pointed tongue and distinct eye roll.

And a blueberry muffin.

So, points or whatever.

“This is not the direct conversation I was promised,” Emma says, unwrapping the baked good so she can immediately flip it over.

Ruby scoffs. “You’re an animal. Who eats a muffin like that?”

“Why are you judging this right now? Also, I am saving the top for the end, which is the best part, and everyone knows that. Also, also, you weren’t invited to my mom’s super top-secret meeting either.”

“That’s because I have a real job. Also, she didn’t invite you because she needed Killian’s sea-faring expertise and well, if you’re there, then—”

“—You’re making eyes,” Elsa shouts. Several heads from several different realms turn their direction.

And Emma has to glance down to make sure she hasn’t immediately combusted on the spot. She hasn’t, but there’s a definite energy lingering in the spaces between the fingers that aren’t holding a goddamn blueberry muffin and the whole thing has reached absurd levels far quicker than she expected.

“That’s definitely true,” Ruby agrees. “It’s like…it’s stupid.”

“Stupid,” Emma echoes. She’s got blueberry under her nail.

“Excessively stupid. Especially since he hasn’t really noticed.”

She almost drops the muffin. Also stupid. “Wait, what?”

“This is kind of the reason we’re here,” Ariel explains. “Because, uh…well, we know you’ve been kind of busy, so maybe you didn’t notice and—”

“—What the hell are you talking about?”

“Killian thinks the glasses look old. You think the glasses make him look good. Someone should say something and then you should stop making eyes in such public places because I’m, like, ninety-two percent positive you’re making your dad really uncomfortable.”

She drops the muffin.

Ruby groans.

“I am…confused,” Emma says slowly, mostly because her brain cannot possibly process these words in this specific order and it hadn’t even crossed her mind that Killian would think anything of the glasses. That’s not great. That’s… “Oh, damn,” she breathes, and Elsa’s staring at her with something far too close to pity to be entirely comfortable. “Are you serious?”

Ariel hums. “I mean he didn’t say anything, but—”

“—But?”

“Well, I mean, Hope wasn’t all that into getting the glasses, right?”

“You think Killian doesn’t want to wear glasses because our kid didn’t?”

“No, I think Killian didn’t think he needed glasses, was slightly stunned to learn that Hope didn’t want them because she was worried about kids making fun in class—”

“—Oh my God.”

“This does not make you a horrible person, Em,” Ruby reasons, but her gaze has turned a little placating too and Emma genuinely does not remember standing up. “You’ve got some other things on your mind.”

Emma huffs, a breath of air that makes most of her body ache and she digs the heel of her hand into her back. “Ok, ok, ok,” she says, stepping dangerously close to the muffin, but it’s also kind of difficult to see over the swell of her stomach now and she can’t stop clicking her teeth together. “So, wait a second. You’re telling me, honestly, right now in this diner that Killian, my Killian, is nervous that…what? He’s got to wear glasses, so I think he’s old?”

“I mean, I think he thinks he’s old,” Ariel counters. “He’s mostly annoyed by the whole thing.”

“Shit.”

“Should I repeat the horrible person thing from before?” Ruby quips, and if Emma were more dexterous she’d totally pick the muffin up off the ground and throw it at her. As it is she can only glare and glower and Ruby snickers when she moves her hand over her mouth.

“It’s the dumbest thing we’ve ever seen, honestly,” Mulan says. “Mostly because most of the All-Realm is almost too aware that you’d like to—what’s the phrase Snow White used?”

“Jump his bones,” Elsa answers, and to her credit, she manages to get the words out before dissolving into something akin to hysterics.

Emma’s jaw pops when it falls open. Again.

She steps in the muffin.

“Oh my God,” Emma repeats, Ruby still laughing, and Elsa’s actually draped over the counter now, her whole body moving with the force of her laughter. Ariel is very clearly biting her lip.

“I mean,” she shrugs, “you glance his direction a lot.”

“We are married,” Emma cries. The heads snap her direction again. “Oh, look at something else,” she adds, voice turning rough and the magic between her fingers feels like it’s very close to some kind of metaphorical breaking point.

She’d have to ask Dr. Eckleburg about the metaphors, though.

“Yeah, see, we know that,” Ariel promises.

Ruby still has her hand over her mouth. It makes it slightly difficult to make out the words she mutters into her palm. “Everyone knows that. It’s like…obvious.”

Emma will also have to ask Hope how she manages to move quickly enough to give the allusion of extra limbs. As it is, all she manages to do is flail her arms limply at her side, head thrown back and another groan tearing at the back of her throat.

“Is there a point to this?” Emma asks, but the question sounds like it’s begging, and Elsa’s fingers are surprisingly warm when they curl around her wrist.

“Stand still. You look like Hope.”

“This is probably where she gets it, honestly.”

“Absolutely,” Elsa nods. “The point is that everyone in this entire All-Realm is far too aware of just how much you appreciate your husband and whatever advancing age he may be undergoing.”

“Did you tell him this? Like did you use those actual words in conversation?”

“Are you kidding me?”

Emma lets her head loll forward, some of her annoyance dissipating at the vaguely scandalized look on Elsa’s face. “We don’t have a death wish,” Mulan mutters. “And that would have annoyed your dad.”

“We are going in circles,” Ariel announces, hitching her daughter further up her side and leveling Emma with a stare that could probably summon several different mythical beings in a variety of waters. All of which, she has no doubt, Killian brought up in detail that afternoon. While wearing the goddamn glasses. Maybe it’s actually Snow White’s fault.

That seems better than blaming Hope.

“The actual point,” Ariel continues, “my dear princess of Misthaven, is that while it may be obvious to everyone with a pulse that you are ridiculous attracted to your own husband and his new glasses—”

“—Bifocals,” Emma mumbles.

“I swear, that is not important. Everyone knows. You stare. Openly. Consistently. It’s almost kind of romantic in a True Love sort of way. But I will tell you something else, the prince consort of Misthaven does not realize it. He’s far too busy worrying about that gray at his temple.”

“I’m kind of into that.”

“I mean, obviously you are. Tell him that.”

Emma lets out a breath, half disbelief that she’s been intervention’ed to flirt with her own husband and half laughter because she is undeniably staring longingly at her own husband. She nods, quick and a little jerky, but also slightly appreciative, doing her best to, at least, get the remains of the muffin into a sweepable pile with her foot.

It takes her two seconds to remember she has magic.

“Oh shit,” Emma mutters, twisting her wrist and the muffin is gone. Ruby rolls her eyes.

“I’m going to tell him you’re overexerting yourself.”

“I will get Regina to stage an unannounced health inspection.”

Ruby bares her teeth. “Go make out with your husband.”

“Honestly,” Elsa adds with a smile. She’s trying to get a croissant without actually climbing over the counter. It’s not going well.

Emma sighs again, but she can’t actually make it sound annoyed and she supposes that’s kind of nice. The bell above the diner door is still ringing when she turns back to the lot of them, one side of her mouth tugged up and it’s not exactly heroic, what she says next, but this whole thing has been some other level of ridiculous and—

“I’m going to tell Killian that you referred to him as prince, Ariel,” Emma announces. “And then he’s going to refuse to watch your kid anymore.”

Ariel opens her mouth to object, but Emma’s already twisting her wrist and it’s kind of excessive. The magic, that is. It’s not really that far of a walk, after all, and she does it almost entirely for the reaction she gets, Killian’s head jerking up as soon as she arrives in the dining room, a puff of smoke lingering at her ankles.

“Swan, what are you—” he starts, but the rest of the words get lost in the air and possibly just under his tongue because Emma does a pretty goddamn good job of making sure his tongue finds its way into her mouth.

She moves into his space almost immediately, crowding against his chest and it takes far less time than she expected for her to practically be straddling his hips. Killian’s hand comes up to rest on her waist, the curve of his hook pressing into the bottom of her spine. It makes Emma’s back arch slightly, trying to touch as much of him as she possibly can because it’s been years and kids and optometrist appointments, but she’s still way better at doing than saying.

So she tilts her head and lets her mouth open against his, fingers carding through hair that isn’t quite perfectly dark anymore. There are noticeable streaks there, especially by his temples, bits of light and dots of silver and every single one makes Emma’s pules thud erratically in her veins.

Emma rolls her hips, a practiced rhythm that gets exactly the sound she wanted out of Killian. His breath hitches and his head drops slightly, nosing at the curve of her shoulder and the side of her neck, dragging his mouth up underneath her jaw and that one, specific, spot just behind her right ear.

And it really is going pretty well, Emma’s heart expanding and her vision swimming just a bit because she can’t even begin to form a rational thought when Killian’s teeth nip at her skin, but then well—

“Ah, bloody…” he grumbles, leaning back to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He uses his right knuckles.

It's almost as good as the hook thing.

And there is a very large smudge on one of the lenses.

Emma hates that she smiles. She does. But the whole thing is so, impossibly endearing and her heart refuses to follow the laws of actual physics and there’s got to be something magical about that too.

True Love, or whatever.

For…old and older and distractingly good-looking glasses. Bifocals, technically.

“Why do you hate the glasses?”

Killian leans back further, brows pulled low and that same muscle jumping in his jaw. “I…I don’t hate them. Why do you think I hate them?”

“They said—”

“—Who said?”

“Would you like it in alphabetical order or by who had the most scathing opinion?”

“I would bet you quite a bit of gold that Ariel had the most scathing opinion.”

Emma is very confused again. Maybe they should kiss some more. She shakes her head slowly, trying to get her thoughts to settle and, maybe, her pulse to calm down a bit, but Killian’s hook has found its way under her shirt and has started tracing tiny semi-circles against her skin, so she figures that’s a losing battle she’s not even interested in beginning.

“Are you a soothsayer?” Emma asks, stabbing her finger into his chest. He catches her around the wrist, tugging her hand up and pressing his lips against her knuckles.

“Not as such, no.”

“Did you know that they were going to intervention me?”

“I had a generic idea that they might, yes. I didn’t think it would be quite this soon, though.”

Emma feels like she’s been hit by lightning. Her jaw is getting one hell of a workout today. It pops again. She hopes that’s not a sign of impending age. And yet…”Are you kidding me?” she snaps, Killian’s eyes absolutely getting bluer the longer she gapes at him. “Did you know?”

“Be more specific, Swan.”

“You’ve got to tell me what’s actually going on here.”

He chuckles, low and a little dangerous, as if that’s something a laugh could be, but then his teeth nip over the tip of her nose and Emma’s magic leaps. Killian’s eyes widen. “Has that been happening a lot?”

“Babe, oh my God!”

“I’m worried about your magic, Swan,” he reasons, hook moving around to her front and there is something decidingly cheating and wholly piratical about it. “That’s romantic.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Admittedly less romantic.”

“Start at the beginning,” she says, doing her best to make it sound less like a command. It does not work. She didn’t expect it to. Something about Jay Gatsby, probably. “You didn’t want glasses, right?”

“Who would?”

“Killian Jones, I swear to God—” Emma doesn’t finish, another repeat and that tongue thing is quite possibly her worst enemy. In a scenario where Emma actually really likes her worst enemy. It’s admittedly convoluted.

“I did not want glasses,” Killian confirms. “Because, as the little fish was very quick to point out, glasses are for—”

“—Four eyes?”

“Something like that, aye. So, I didn’t want them because it felt like…well, a sailor needs to see, right? The horizon and general sense of direction and the stars.”

“You realize this will help with that, right?”

“I do,” he promises. “I was, however, rather despised with the initial idea of them.”

“Why?”

“Aside from how quickly they get dirty?” Emma hums, tugging the glasses off his face and using the end of her shirt to get rid of the smudge. It makes him smile. And she’s not entirely sure if Killian is actually breathing when she pushes the sides back over his ears, but then he’s turning into her palm on his cheek, kissing just inside her wrist and—“It is an altogether far too obvious sign of aging, don’t you think?”

“I’m fairly certain that’s how the human body works.”

“Aye, your mother was rather quick to point that out.” Emma’s jaw cannot hold up to all of this for much longer. Killian hums, another kiss to her skin. “She was rather adamant about it. That this was a natural progression of…everything and I—well, I did hate them to begin with.”

“But?”

“But,” he echoes. “Your mother has a stubborn streak several miles long. I’m sure that’s where both you and Hope get it.”

“These are not compliments, Captain.”

His eyes are getting brighter. Emma is positive. He also may just be flirting with her. That’s rather wonderful, all things considered. “I was told, in no uncertain terms, to stop sulking about the glasses. Because—well, your mother said several things that I dare not to repeat in front of a princess and—”

Emma swats at his chest with both hands, an incredible exercise in balance that only succeeds when Killian’s fingers tighten around the curve of her hip. He smirks at her. “You are incredibly annoying, you know that?”

“Yes, that was one of the things your mother mentioned. But, well, it did leave me thinking and—” The smirk turns genuine, far too much emotion when Emma’s still got her legs on either side of his hips. “It’s been a very long time since I even considered the possibility of something like this,” Killian breathes. “The chance to…it shouldn’t surprise me anymore, love. All of this. A family and the wee little sea monster and,” his hand moves over her stomach, thumb brushing across the front of her shirt in a move that is a little possessive and a little wonderful and the light above them flickers.

Killian laughs, a quick kiss that leaves Emma leaning forward and she gets to blame hormones for the next few months. Then it’s just the glasses fault, really.

“It’s still a little difficult to believe sometimes,” Killian admits. “Because I’m—”

“—Super old?”

He mouths at the side of her chin, scruff scratching against Emma’s cheek. “Aye, something like that. But that’s never really been a problem before.”

“Is it now?”

“I thought so at first,” he says. “That this was…I don’t know, a sign of…the end does sound slightly macabre doesn’t it?”

“Kind of.”

“And I realize it’s not that. Even without Snow White’s assistance.”

“Mom got around apparently. She’s definitely the reason I got interventioned today too.”

“I don’t know many more efficient people than your mother,” Killian mutters, eyes flashing again and he hisses in a breath when Emma’s nails shift. “What I’m trying to say is…the whole thing was entirely vain and only a little self-serving and I…well, I don’t quite hate the glasses anymore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, a pale imitation of her voice that makes Emma scrunch her nose. “Because, and honestly get ready to swoon, Swan. I realized that the glasses were a sign of…life, I suppose. One with you and the aforementioned sea monster and that change wasn’t necessarily some harbinger of doom—”

"—You are the most dramatic person in all the realms, your highness.”

Killian growls. “This is not swooning, love.”

“How many times do you think you can refer to our kid as a sea monster before it starts to get weird?”

“When she demonstrates consistent control of all her limbs.”

“Ah, yeah that’s fair.”

“Right,” he nods, another kiss pressed to the bridge of her nose. “I don’t mind them so much. I…I’d still rather not have them because the bloody things do get dirty just by existing, but,” Killian shrugs, a tilt of his head and one strand of hair falling across his forehead. Probably just to torment Emma. “I appreciate what they mean. For both of us and this life we’ve built.”

Emma doesn’t respond immediately. It is her great failing, like just…as a person. She’s not great at conversation or doing anything except letting the emotion currently rushing through both her arms settle into her veins and drift into her bloodstream and circle back around to her heart. She should say that out loud.

That would be kind of romantic.

As it is, she stays frustratingly silent, staring at this 300-year-old pirate who very clearly loves her and their kids and they’ve got kids and a life and this house and this goddamn All-Realm and--

“This is the part where you appropriately swoon, Swan,” Killian mutters, but there’s a hint of nerves to his voice that does not belong there.

Emma gasps.

Idiot.

Because everyone was right. And he might not totally hate the glasses anymore. But he absolutely, positively does not know.

“I think they make you look unfairly good,” Emma announces, far too loud to be even remotely dignified. Killian’s eyebrows soar into his hairline. “Like it’s so absolutely stupid how good the glasses make you look. It’s been driving me insane since you got them.

He blinks. Once, twice, three times, lips parting with a soft pop and another head tilt. She’s going to magic that one strand of hair back.

“Honestly,” Emma continues, because once she starts, the emotions don’t ever seem to stop. Like Pringles. Emotional Pringles. “It’s…genuinely kind of offensive how good looking you are as an old person. I hate it. I mean—you know, I don’t hate it, but it’s just—”

“—Did you just call me old?” Killian cuts in, and there’s got to be some dentist in Storybrooke Emma wasn’t aware of too. Her teeth are going to need it.

“In a way where that’s actually a compliment.”

“Because you’re attracted to that.”

“How were you not getting that? I’ve been staring at you all week.”

“You do have a tendency to stare rather often, love.”

“Because you’re attractive! That’s how it works.”

“Does it, just?”

Emma scowls, but it’s difficult to stay consistently frustrated when he’s staring at her like that – glasses sliding down his nose and eyes distractingly blue and the hair moves when he shakes his head in what she can only imagine is disbelief. “I just,” Emma continues lamely, waving both her hands near her ears. Killian tugs his lips back behind his teeth. “This whole silver thing is…it’s working.”

His eyes widen.

“Like, really working.”

“Yuh huh,” Killian muses. “And the glasses thing?”

“You’re fishing for compliments.”

“I absolutely am.”

Emma laughs, pulling herself closer to Killian, but that’s starting to get a bit harder every day and whatever noise she makes quickly evolves into a giggle when he presses a line of kisses across her collarbone. “You’re going to mess up your glasses again,” Emma points out. He does not seem to care all that much. “I’m…oh God, if I use the word distinguished are you going to laugh?”

“You’re the one laughing, Swan.”

“You look distinguished.”

He does, in fact, chuckle against her skin, but that only serves to leave goosebumps on her skin and Emma has no idea how she’s managed to stay on his legs this entire time. It’s probably True Love again, honestly. “I’m not sure that’s exactly the reputation I’m going for, love.”

“Ariel referred to you as a prince today.”

“That’s because she’s mad at me for being, her words, stupid about the glasses.”

“Yeah, well, the glasses look good and you’re—”

“—A worthy prince consort?”

“Something like that,” Emma mumbles, if only because the butterflies churning in her stomach make it difficult to speak any louder. It’s nice that that hasn’t changed. She doesn’t imagine it will. “And I’m glad too, you know?”

“About?”

“This,” she says, glancing around the dining room. There are several dozen maps on their table. “All of it, babe. The interventions and Snow White’s interference and out of control magic—”

“—Has your magic really been out of control?”

Emma clicks her tongue. “I’m seriously going to blame the glasses. And your hair. God, I hate your hair.”

“I love you, too.”

“Yeah, that was my point.” Emma ducks her head, lets her mouth move against his like it has for years and several kids and a variety of curses and it’s just as easy as it’s ever been to be ridiculously attracted to Captain Hook, scourge of a variety of seas, but it’s somehow even easier to love Killian Jones, a good man and a better father and the only person Emma would ever be willing to refer to as prince consort. If only because it makes the tips of his ears go red.

Every single time.

And Emma isn’t all that surprised when the front door nearly flies off its hinges, the undeniable sounds of a backpack hitting the wall and sneakers landing somewhere. Hope sprints towards them, clearly unsurprised by their current seating arrangement if only because she’s already talking several miles a minute. Or whatever the nautical version of that is.

Leagues. Leagues a minute.

“And we had to read off the board and I didn’t miss a single word and Mrs. Jewls gave me a Tootsie Roll Pop—” Emma jerks back when Hope brandishes the candy, clearly proud and there are still glasses on her face. Her eyes flicker towards Killian, his own smile tugging at the ends of his mouth.

“What did you have to read?”

“Dr. Seuss!”

Killian’s gaze darts Emma’s direction. She shakes her head slightly. “Not magic. As far as I know, at least.”

“I knew that.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure you did. What’s your favorite story so far, Hope?”

Saying that the question opens up the floodgates is another metaphor, but Emma is far too busy being charmed by her own kid and she supposes, in his own way, Dr. Seuss also deals in metaphors. Particularly when she is presented with what, at first glance, appears to be Dr. Seuss’ entire life’s work.

There are books everywhere, including some falling out of the half-zipped backpack that is, in fact, propped up against the wall in the hallway.

“How did you carry all of this?” Emma asks, clamoring off Killian’s legs when Hope lifts her arms in the air. “And where did they—”

“—I’ll give you three guesses,” Killian mumbles. He’s already flipping through the books, each one stamped with a familiar brand and he’s not even trying to hide his smile anymore. “Did you go scour the library after school, little fish?”

Hope pushes her glasses up before she answers. “Henry took me and Lucy when he picked us up. There are lots of books there and Aunt Belle—”

“—Aye, I figured. Well, you’ve got quite a treasure trove here. How do you think you’re going to get through all of these?”

Emma’s heart bursts. Kind of. Metaphorically. She can feel Hope’s smile when she buries her head into the side of her neck. “You know,” Emma muses, “Dad’s got some pretty great reading glasses now and he's very good at making sure he doesn’t skip the words too.”

Hope lifts her head. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. We used to do that a lot. When you were little and even before you were born. Dad’s a very good story teller.”

“Will you, Daddy? There’s a bunch there and you can have some of my Tootsie Roll Pop!”

Killian’s tongue presses into the corner of his mouth, ears coloring and eyes as blue as ever. Emma hugs her daughter just a bit tighter. “You eat the lollipop, little love. And we’ll make Mama pick the book, huh?”

Hope nods enthusiastically enough that her chin nearly collides with Emma’s shoulder more than once. She can barely get one word out before the next one is already bubbling away and there’s another fish pun to be made there.

Emma picks Fox in Socks. Killian rolls his eyes. And kisses her cheek.

And they make it through half a dozen books before Emma’s stomach starts to grumble and then three more books after dinner before Hope’s eyes start to flutter, Killian tugging the glasses off her face so they don’t risk disaster.

The whole thing is unfairly adorable and just as attractive, Hope clinging to Killian while the three of them trudge up the stairs. Emma magics the smudges off his glasses when he crawls into bed next to her, muttering about limbs and sea monsters and she falls asleep with a smile on her face and magic fluttering in the air around her.

[searchingwardrobes]

If You Could See

Happy birthday to a wonderfully talented writer and artist who I am honored to also call my friend - @optomisticgirl  ! I hope your day is absolutely wonderful B! I was so honored and blessed to have you as my artist for the CSBB, and even happier that I got to know you through that event. I was floored to discover you were the writer of one of my favorite fics Days of Future’s Past, and as a nod to that, your birthday fic has a little bit of time travel. It also sort of ran away with me and became a 3,000+ word fic. I hope you like it! Thank you to @snowbellewells who helped me choose between three picsets that I was agonizing over because, well, it’s you B. I’m no artist though!

Summary: Snow confesses to Merlin that she sometimes doesn't understand her daughter. He gives her a talisman that will allow her to see through Emma's eyes. Will she be able to understand the love her daughter shares with Killian Jones?

Based on the song by Tonic as well as my head canon that there is a lot that people don’t know about our two favorite idiots because, let’s face it, they are not big on sharing. Oh, and the song by Tonic is about a girl, but I changed it because of the blue eyes thing . . . 

Rating: T

Trigger warnings: anti-Neal (what else is new for me?) 

Also on Ao3

Part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist which is up to eleven fics by now! I know I could link back to them on tumblr, but being technologically challenged, that takes me freakin’ forever so you can find the series here on Ao3 or search the tag #fandom birthday playlist on my blog.

Tagging: @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @bethacaciakay @teamhook @thislassishooked @snidgetsafan @kday426 @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @wellhellotragic @wellhellotragicwrites @let-it-raines @distant-rose

If you could only see the way he loves me then maybe you could understand why I feel this way about our love, and what I must do. If you could only see how blue his eyes can be when he says, when he says he loves me.

“You feel you don’t understand her.”

Snow startled to find Merlin standing just over her shoulder. He smiled kindly as he took a seat across from her in the diner booth, and Snow relaxed. She glanced outside where her daughter was saying her goodbyes to Hook. They smiled at one another, and Snow herself grinned as well. The smile on Emma’s face was such a joyous one, her nose wrinkling and her cheeks creasing. Hook’s smile was tender for her daughter yet laced with worry. He pulled Emma in for a passionate kiss, and Snow looked away.

“He makes her smile in a way no one else can,” Snow commented, unable to keep the slight tinge of jealousy from her voice.

“And you don’t quite understand why.”

Snow glanced at Merlin, wide-eyed.

“Why a pirate, I mean.” Merlin’s face was serene, free of judgement.

She sighed and clasped her hands in her lap. “It isn’t that I don’t approve . . . I do, really. She’s happy . . . “ Snow took a deep breath before finally speaking the truth aloud. “But you’re right, I don’t understand her. I don’t know her. I thought . . . “

“You thought she would be reunited with her first love, get the happy ending that you and Charming got.”

Snow blinked away the tears. “Hook’s changed, I know that, but Emma is the savior, a hero . . . she’s always been on the side of good, like Neal was.”

Merlin simply nodded, and Snow almost felt the way she did talking to Archie back home. She waited for the sorcerer to give her some piece of wisdom, but instead, he reached into the folds of his robes and pulled out a necklace. The pendant looked like a gyrosphere, multiple hoops going in different directions.

“Emma’s life was vastly different from yours or your husband’s.”

He quickly raised a hand as Snow’s head dropped back. She gazed up at the ceiling, her breaths coming quicker. Would the guilt never go away? She finally looked back at Merlin who was waiting patiently.

“I know why you did what you did – so does she. But Emma doesn’t exactly open up easily. There is much she doesn’t share with you.”

Merlin put the necklace in Snow’s hand, then rose from his seat.

“Wait! What is this?”

Merlin smiled. “A talisman. To see the world through your daughter’s eyes. But it can only be used once. When the time comes, spin it.”

Snow’s brow furrowed. “When the time comes? When is that?”

“You’ll just know.”

She scowled at Merlin’s back as he left the diner. Was it a requirement that wizards speak in riddles?

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

Snow blinked away the tears as her daughter clutched desperately at Hook’s shoulders, begging Merlin for a way to save him. Could her daughter never be happy?

Yet even though her heart broke for Emma, Snow backed up everyone else. She had to let him go. Embracing the darkness wasn’t worth it. Even Hook was gasping for her to re-forge Excalibur so he could see her free before he died.

Then suddenly, Emma cried out, tears streaming down her face, and both she and Hook were gone. Merlin’s gaze fell to the floor in defeat, David sank in despair to his knees, and Regina snapped about mooning over stupid pirates. Snow turned her back on all of it. She reached into the bodice of her dress, pulled out the talisman, and spun it.

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

Snow’s vision was spotty and she stumbled slightly, disoriented to find herself in a dark alley back in the Land Without Magic. It was evening, cold, with a slight drizzle. A few feet away, a couple huddled together. The man held a flashlight. Could they see her? Snow took a step closer, but neither of them reacted. She could now see that the woman wasn’t a woman at all – she was just a girl. The beam of a flashlight shifted and caught the girl’s features. Snow gasped.

“Emma!”

It was obvious now she was an invisible observer, as her daughter didn’t so much as flinch at Snow’s outburst. Snow drank in the sight of her. The innocence of her face, the blonde ponytail, the black framed glasses. She wore less makeup, her freckles more prominent. She was so young.

“You sure you know the code?”

The man she was with turned, and Snow gasped again to see Neal’s face. She swallowed as bile seemed to rise in her throat. Why had she never considered the age difference? But now, seeing her daughter this way . . .

“Of course I know it . . . the numbers at least. Here, hold this, I can't see a damn thing.”

Emma took the flashlight and shone it on a panel of buttons on what Snow assumed was the back entrance to an apartment. Emma chewed on her lower lip.

“And you’re sure this guy isn’t home?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Look, you don’t want to sleep in the Bug again, do you?” Neal turned and put his arms around Emma, giving her a flirtatious grin. “And while we’ve had some good times in that back seat, I want this to be special.”

Snow clenched both of her fists at the nervous look on her daughter’s face.

“I should have told you this before . . . “ Emma hesitated, her gaze going down to her shoes.

Neal’s eyes widened in surprised revelation. “Really? You mean, you’re a . . . virgin?“

Even in the poor light, Snow could see Emma’s cheeks turn pink.

“Why is that so crazy? I’m only seventeen.”

Neal shrugged in a manner that was way too cavalier for Snow’s liking. “You’ve lived on the streets, babe. I mean, I know how that usually goes.”

“Well not for me!” Emma snapped, taking a step back and out of Neal ‘s arms.

“Hey, hey,” Neal soothed, rubbing her arms, “calm down. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Emma went willingly into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. Neal ran his fingers through her ponytail. He kissed the top of her head.

“Ready to get out of the rain?”

Emma nodded, and the two of them turned back to the access panel. Neal pushed a combination of numbers, and a loud buzz sounded. He turned to Emma with a big grin.

“See! What did I tell you?”

Emma shuffled her feet. “Neal . . . “

Snow stepped forward, wanting to tell her daughter that she didn’t have to do this if she wasn’t ready. Tears pricked her eyes as she reached out, but her hands went right through her baby’s shoulders.

Neal smiled gently at Emma. He pulled her close, cupped her cheek, then kissed her softly. “It’s gonna be great. You’ll see.”

“No! She isn’t ready!” Snow cried as Neal pulled a reluctant Emma through the gate. She tried to grasp the metal bars, but it was useless. Snow hugged her middle, her stomach roiling. Please, please, was he gentle with her? Patient? She sobbed.

The alley way suddenly spun, and she found herself in a city park this time. Neal was ready to leave Emma, to flee to Canada. Snow watched her daughter, so happy, so in love, telling Neal she could get the watches for him. Snow stared at the wanted poster in Neal’s hand. She tried to tell herself it was no different than the posters with her image back in the Enchanted Forest, but a tiny niggle of doubt teased the back of her mind.

The next two scenes were even harder to watch: her daughter being arrested because of Neal’s tip, her daughter numb in a jail cell as she held a positive pregnancy test in her hand. Why had Emma never shared these things with her? Her mother? Snow knew she was pregnant in jail, but had never wanted to press into painful memories. She should have pressed. The desire to hold her daughter was a physical ache, and Snow sobbed once again.

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

As the world spun around her, Snow feared what she might see next. The noises that greeted her ears certainly weren’t comforting. The sight that met her eyes both shocked and confused her. Hook was face down in a tub of water, and Emma was frantically trying to pull him out. Everything fell into place when Snow saw Zelena and Rumple nearby. The villains didn’t break whatever spell Hook was under until the man’s body went limp. Emma hauled him out, the terror on her face palpable. Snow shook her head in confusion. When had this happened? Why had neither of them ever said anything about it?

“Hook! Hook!” Emma cried, shaking him. It reminded Snow so much of the tragic scene in the diner, her heart ached. “Hook, wake up!”

“Killian, come back to me,” her daughter pleaded. She looked around, as if desperate for someone to help her. Finding none, she muttered, “Son of a bitch,” then leaning over Hook’s face, she said again, “Hook, come back to me.” Then she held his nose and breathed into his mouth. Snow didn’t understand the cloud of magic that covered Emma and blew away on the wind.

Hook choked and coughed up water, and Emma sagged in relief. Hook’s eyes went wide as he touched his lips.

“What did you do?”

Emma sighed. “I saved your life, that’s what.”

Hook sat up, his fingers at his lips again. “And you did that by . . .”

“Mouth to mouth, okay?” Emma snapped. “And don’t get any ideas, I just didn’t want you dying on me.”

Emma rose and dusted off her jeans. Snow was amazed at how she so easily hid the concern and desperation from just moments ago. Hook scrambled to his feet as well.

“You should have just let me die. Now your magic is gone!”

Emma’s eyes flashed. “You wanted a hot kiss instead of first aid? Well too bad.”

Hook rolled his eyes. “You think I’m that shallow? I’ve done everything in my power to ensure that my cursed lips stayed far from yours, and -”

“I’m sure those lips weren’t wanting for attention, so spare me the melodrama.”

Snow tilted her head. She wasn’t sure what had changed, but as her daughter stalked away from Hook, she could read her more easily than she ever could. Her daughter was afraid of her feelings for this man.

Snow found herself next in a barn with a swirling portal. Emma had already fallen in, and she was clinging desperately to Hook’s hand. With a scream, she lost her grip and fell. Snow was surprised to see that Hook was still safe. Hadn’t it pulled them both in?

“One of these days I’m going to stop chasing this woman,” Killian Jones muttered before pulling his hook free from the dirt.

As the portal swallowed him and closed, a smile lifted Snow’s lips.

“He followed her,” she whispered. And she and David never knew. Even Emma probably didn’t know of this particular heroism. There was definitely more to her daughter’s pirate boyfriend than met the eye.

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

Snow at first didn’t understand why she found herself on Granny’s patio. She had looked outside that night and seen her daughter kissing Captain Hook. But she hadn’t heard their conversation.

“You traded your ship for me?”

“Aye.”

So that’s where the Jolly Roger had been. Why had Hook never told them? Why hadn’t Emma?

After that, Snow found herself watching her daughter on another rainy night, this one outside Granny’s. Emma’s words were like a gunshot to Snow’s heart.

“Everyone I’ve ever been with is dead. Neal, Graham, even Walsh. I can’t lose you too.”

Snow didn’t even hear Hook’s assurances. Her ears were ringing with the words I can't lose you too.

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

It was a beautiful day on the beach. Hook lay on a blanket, her daughter curled up with him, her head on his chest. He ran his fingers lazily through her hair.

“Listen to that sound,” he said quietly.

“Mmm,” Emma mumbled, “the waves, the gulls, the wind.”

“Aye, it’s always soothed me.”

Emma turned and rested her chin on his chest. “Even though you were a slave at sea?”

Snow blinked. Hook had been a slave?

Hook nodded. “The vastness of it, the wildness, made me believe that one day I could have freedom there. Liam and I dreamed of having our own ship someday. But not with the Navy – as merchants. A ship that was ours alone with no one telling us what to do.” Hook chuckled, “I was only nine, Liam only thirteen.

Snow pressed a hand to her lips. He was only a child?

“I used to have crazy dreams too,” Emma said with a fond smile. Snow’s heart ached to hear them both talk about difficult, lonely childhoods with such a casual air. “That my parents would come, and I would find out that I was special all along. Like Harry Potter or something.”

Emma’s words made tears track down Snow’s cheeks. She watched as Hook rolled over, gazing tenderly down at Emma. His smile was one Snow had already noticed was reserved only for her daughter. It crinkled the corners of his eyes, dimpled his cheeks, and made his eyes light up. He caressed Emma’s face.

“I suppose both our dreams came true. I got my ship, and you found your parents.”

Emma reached up and cupped his face. “But it wasn’t what we imagined as children. And you lost your ship.”

“But I found you.”

Snow looked away, feeling a bit guilty for watching them kiss. She glanced back, concerned she would see the pirate pillaging and plundering her daughter. She was surprised to see that he had stopped kissing her and had pulled her back into his embrace instead. Her daughter wasn’t having any of it, however. She sat up and straddled him.

“When are you going to make your move, pirate?”

The smile on his face was surprisingly gentle and serious as he sat up and wrapped his arms around Emma.

“I told your father you were more than a mere conquest, and I meant it.”

Emma tilted her head. “So this is some Enchanted Forest courtship agreement with my dad?”

“No.” Hook ran his fingers through Emma’s hair, then kissed her gently. “I love you, Emma.”

Snow watched her daughter press her forehead against Hook’s. “I know.”

“Yet you haven’t said it back.”

Emma’s eyes looked sad as she climbed off his lap. He remained quiet as she sat cross-legged next to him.

“Be patient with me?”

Snow almost didn’t catch the words, Emma said them so softly. When had she seen her daughter so vulnerable and scared? Snow’s breath caught. In that alley with Neal. She continued to hold her breath as she watched Hook gather Emma close.

“Of course, love,” he told her tenderly, “we have all the time in the world.”

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

“Snow?”

She turned to see David looking nervously into her face. She glanced around to see that she was back at the diner in Camelot. David cupped her face.

“Snow?”

“What happened?”

“You stared off into space for a moment, then you suddenly blinked and started crying.” David’s thumbs caressed her cheeks. “Are you alright?”

Snow grasped David’s wrists. “Only a moment? They left only a moment ago?”

David’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Yes. . . “

Snow grinned and pulled her husband in for a quick kiss. “True love, honey, true love is the answer!” She turned to Merlin. “If Emma re-forges Excaliber and rids herself of the darkness, could she share her heart with Killian?”

Merlin smiled, glancing down at the talisman around her neck. “Yes, that could definitely work.”

“But Snow,” David protested, “that can only work if Hook is her true love. And if it doesn’t work, it could kill her.”

“Oh David, please. The man’s name is Killian.”

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

How Merlin had figured out where Emma had taken Killian, Snow didn’t know, nor did she care. All she cared about was stopping Emma from doing something horrific when there was a better option. There she was, standing over Killian with Excaliber.

“Emma, stop!”

Her daughter’s face was even more anguished than before as she turned to her. “I can’t lose him, Mom! Please, I can’t.”

“I know, baby,” Snow soothed as she gently lowered Emma’s arm.

On the ground, Killian made a gurgling sound. Even Snow’s heart lurched, and as she gazed down into his suffering face, she no longer saw Captain Hook, the reformed pirate. She saw Killian Jones, former slave boy, man of honor, hero who time and again chose her daughter over everything else. She saw Emma’s true love.

“He’s dying!” Emma sobbed, sagging in her mother’s embrace. The sword fell with a thud into the middlemist roses.

“There’s another way, Emma. Do what you planned, use Excaliber to cut away the darkness in you -”

“But -”

Snow put a finger to her daughter’s lips. “Then you can do what I did for your father. Share your heart.”

“Emma,” Killian managed to say. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“You’ll be okay,” Emma told him as she dropped to the ground next to him, grasping his hook.

“I love you,” he told her, then his eyes rolled shut.

“He’s gone,” David said softly.

Emma pressed Killian’s hook to her breast, then leaned over and kissed his forehead. She stood, her face pale, but free of tears as she looked at Merlin.

“Let’s hurry and do this so I can save the man I love.”

Snow smiled through her tears at Emma’s commanding voice, the tilt of her chin. Perhaps her daughter was more like her than Snow thought.

Emma had fought the darkness so valiantly; it was easy to forget what she bore. But as Excaliber pulled the darkness from her, Snow could see a lightness come back into her daughter’s eyes, and the pink return to her cheeks. Light magic surged from her palms, and Excaliber imploded, blowing away as it turned to dust.

“She did it,” Merlin said in awe, “the Dark One magic is destroyed forever.”

Emma took no time to embrace her parents or celebrate. She dropped to her knees beside Killian’s still form and plunged her hand in to her own chest without hesitation. With it pulsing red in her palm, she leaned over and pressed her lips to Killian’s.

“Come back to me,” she whispered.

Merlin took the heart from Emma, and after a nod of consent from her, split it in two. Emma cried out and fell to the ground next to Killian, her hand still clasping his hook. The sorcerer leaned over them and plunged the two halves into their chests. Emma rolled over and took Killian’s face in her hands.

“Please,” she whispered, tears rolling down her face, “you promised me you were a survivor, Killian Jones.”

David reached out and drew Snow close as they waited. She could feel his half of her heart beating fast.

Then, with a gasp, Killian’s eyes flew open. Emma gave a glad cry and began to pepper his face with kisses.

“What happened?” he asked as he sat up, one arm still around Emma.

She smiled and pressed her palm to Killian’s chest. “We share a heart.”

Killian’s eyes widened in wonder. “We do?”

Emma nodded, happy tears now streaming down her face as she pulled him close for a passionate kiss.

Snow looked at her husband and smiled to see a tear slip down his cheek. She reached up and brushed it away as he turned to her with a broad smile.

“David?”

“Yes darling?”

“What do you think about calling our son by his middle name?”

[love-with-you-i-have-everything]

we’ll give the world to you, and you’ll blow us all away

This is a tiny bit of Captain Cobra fic that will become canon to me if we don't get any interaction between Henry and real-Hook by the end of the season! Thanks to @happilyswanjones for reading this over for me!

You can find it on Ao3 here. Enjoy!

He found the horizon calming. He didn’t really know why, whether it was instinctual or thanks to too much time spent with Killian. But sitting on the bow of the Jolly Roger, legs hanging over the side, Henry felt at peace, despite the storm of issues he was inevitably about to face in the coming weeks.

Over the last eight years, he’d stumbled upon heaps of positives of having two mums. Regina’s place was perfect if he needed an escape from Emma and Killian’s love-sick teenager routine. It worked vice versa too, and whenever Regina was in one of her standard bad moods, he always had somewhere else to run to.

Having to share potentially earth-shattering news twice was not one of those positives.

No one was going to understand. Or maybe they would, but they wouldn’t like it. There’d been so much talk of college, of heading off to New York City, or Boston to write for publishers and papers. And Henry knew that both his mothers, even Killian had been putting money aside for it.

It’s not like he wasn’t grateful; he knew how desperate people were to get places in colleges, to have the funds to do so. He knew he was lucky.

But it wasn’t what he wanted. Not really. In theory it sounded great, but in its actuality, it didn’t seem like enough.

Maybe it was Violet breaking up with him a year ago, heading back to her home in the Enchanted Forest that brought it on, but either way, college didn’t seem like the right fit anymore.

He heard the footsteps before he saw who they belonged to. Not that he needed to check. Henry had heard them way too many times marching up the corridor, always followed by a voice telling him to get out of bed on early mornings, asking if he wanted to go sailing.

“Something on your mind, lad?” Killian asked, hovering behind him as if waiting for an invitation to sit. Henry let out a sigh, shrugging his shoulders ever so slightly.

“Why would you think that?” he asked, finally looking over his shoulder to meet the tilted head of his stepfather, eyes deep with concern. Henry moved over slightly, making room for the man to sit beside him.

“Because,” Killian started, moving to take the offered seat, “when I was a lad, a brand-new lieutenant on this very vessel,” he let out a breath as he sunk onto the raised edge, shuffling to get comfortable, “I used to sit in this very spot and think.”

Henry snorted, now keeping his eyes locked on something in the distance.

“Also, because I got a worried phone call from your mother saying you very efficiently fled the house as soon as she asked you about college applications.”

He shrugged again, not game enough to comment in fear of spilling out the truth. Killian cleared his throat at the silence, taking his eyes off Henry and onto the horizon. They sat for a moment in silence before Killian spoke again, this time softer.

“Look, lad. If the last few years of parenting,” he stumbled over that word, and Henry laughed in his head at Killian’s constant hesitancy to call himself a parent; it was clear to everyone how far their relationship had come, “has taught me anything, it’s that there’s no point pushing you if you don’t want to talk. So I’m happy to sit here in silence as long as you like.”

Looking across at him now, Henry studied the man sitting next to him. Only a few years ago, Henry would have shied away, not willing to talk to his moms about things like this, let alone Emma’s pirate boyfriend. But somewhere along the line, he’d become more than that. Maybe it was the sailing trips, the family dinners or movie nights, or even the little moments, like when Killian tried his first Pop Tart.

(He’d claimed to hate it, but Henry had noticed the supply depleting at a faster rate after that day.)

So, at some point, Killian had become family. Not that he hadn’t been before, or even that he legally was after the wedding. No. He had become family to Henry .

He could remember, way back in the time of the Missing Year, when his mum would date guys. None of them cared about him, they’d tolerated him at best. Walsh was marginally better. But Killian was the first guy who really seemed to care about Henry as his own person, not just an extension of his mother. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why that meant so much to him.

But it did.

Henry let out a sigh, and before he could think, the words poured out of his mouth.

“I don’t want to go to college.” There is was. The cat was out of the bag. It was a relief in a way, like the pressure had been building and had finally been let out. Much to Killian’s credit, he didn’t react. “Don’t look so surprised,” Henry continued sarcastically.

Killian hesitantly reached an arm around Henry’s shoulders, “I will admit, lad, I did see this coming.”

Letting out a breath, Henry became very interested in the wood beneath him, running a nail through a grain in the red paint, “Does that mean my moms know too?” he asked, hoping he was wrong.

“Your mothers may know a lot about magic and the like, but I think you’ll find they can be a bit blind sometimes.” Henry let out a snort, “Especially when they’re both so excited for you at the moment.”

Henry felt his stomach drop with guilt. He was graduating near the top of his class, and he hadn’t stopped hearing about it. First it was his grandma, then she had told Emma, who had told Regina. And he was proud of himself, really. But all the fanfare and celebration had just made him feel worse about everything.

Killian seemed to catch onto his mood and quickly tried to cover up his mistake, “Not that that means they’re not going to understand how you’re feeling, lad.”

“Yeah. Right.” Henry replied shortly, hoisting himself up and moving towards the main mast. He didn’t look back, but could hear Killian follow him. He tried to be annoyed, but he couldn’t find it in him.

Everyone knew Killian didn’t give up on the people he loved.

The ropes that wrapped around the mast were complicated and interwoven with one another, twisting up the wood towards the rigging above them. He’d spent many days sitting on the deck between Killian and his mum, or even his grandpa, tying knots and untying them, just enjoying rare days of warm Maine weather. He was going to miss days like that.

“You know,” Killian began, voice cutting through the short silence, “when your father was on this ship he battled with questions similar to yours. What am I going to do with my future? What’s the right path? I doubt he would have imagined the story his life played out, but I also doubt he would have traded it for anything.”

Henry rolled his eyes at the pirate’s words, “What are you trying to say here, Killian?”

He felt a pressure on his shoulders and finally turned to face Killian. His eyes were full of sincerity, not the playful glimmer that usually lived in them. It was the look they got when Emma came home from the station, stressed and cursing the dwarfish population of the town.

“What I’m saying, Henry, is that you might not know what the ‘right’ thing to do is right now, but your story will find you.”

Sighing dramatically, he broke away from his stepfather and walked to look over the edge of the ship, “That’s what I’m saying, Killian.” he exclaimed, voice rising, “I need to find my story. And I don’t think it’s here in Storybrooke or at college...”

Killian interrupted, “Well, I know Belle always talked of travelling the world, maybe some of her things could give you some ideas, and I’m sure your mothers would be happy to let you…”

“Will you let me finish?” Henry said, throwing his arms up by his side, turning back to face Killian, who smartly shut his mouth and gestured for him to continue. “I don’t think it’s in this realm either.”

Silence settled over the pair for a good minute before Killian spoke again.

“I see.”

They held each other’s stare, and Henry could see the gears ticking away in Killian’s head. While he hadn’t counted on telling him everything like this, he had hoped of all people, Killian would be the most open to the idea. But his hesitancy was reason to doubt.

“Well, Emma and Regina may struggle a bit more with that kind of travel.”

Folding his arms stubbornly, Henry rolled his eyes, the picture of his mother. “They shouldn’t. It’s not really that different.”

Killian’s brows furrowed in concern. “I’m afraid it is, lad. There’s a whole other range of dangers in other realms, ones that are far less easy to deal with than taxes and bank loans.”

Looking at his feet, Henry scuffed his toes along the deck of the ship, the same one he’d cleaned as retribution for all sorts of things, like the time he and Violet had snuck out to see a movie.

“I’ve survived them before.” he replied, this time less confident, quieter. “I don’t know, Killian. I just,” he stopped to gather his thoughts, “I’ve spent my whole life around fairytale characters, reading their stories in that book. I want to be a part of that. I need to be, I know it.”

Over the last few years, Killian had been somewhat of a confidante to Henry, someone who was more than happy to pull pranks on his mum, who he could try risky sword fighting moves with and petrify everyone else with them afterwards. But every now and then, when his mothers were either too busy or just didn’t understand, he’d be there for comfort, for solace.

That was the Killian that was in front of him now. That was the Killian that reached out and pulled him into a hug, patting him on the back.

“I understand, lad. Truly, I do.” Henry did his best to hide his sniff. “And for what it’s worth, I think your mothers will to.”

Henry let out a wet laugh, pulling away from the hug but staying close enough for Killian to keep his hands on his shoulders, “I’m not saying they’ll understand right away, but they’ll come around.”

Then he came out with the big one.

“We all just want what’s best for you, Henry. What makes you happy. Whether that’s here, on the other side of the world, the Enchanted Forest or the bloody moon, we’ll learn to deal with it. As long as you’re happy.”

Looking into this man’s eyes, Henry was yet again stunned by how much they’d both changed. Never would he have thought the man he caught staring at his mother would become this ..

“Thanks, Killian,” he replied simply, not knowing what else to say. “Do you think you could be there when I tell everyone? So I have someone on my side, at least?”

Killian looked down to the deck, then back up at Henry through his dark fringe. “Aye, Henry. Anything.”

Before the moment could get even sappier, he turned away to return to his spot on the bow, only to be joined moments later. They sat in silence, both staring out into the water. Henry could understand what Killian got out of being on the water for so long; there was nothing better, more calming, than staring out at the waves.

“I’m going to miss you, lad,” Killian admitted softly. Without responding, Henry simply nodded.

There was nothing else to say.

[kat2609]

Need a Little Christmas Part 2/3. (I’m almost certain)

Because it’s totally okay to be publishing a Christmas fic in February. Isn’t it?

For my GFSS @laschatzi - it’s not been quick, but I ma gradually whipping that muse into submission. Thanks for being patient with me!

Find Part 1 HERE

Many thanks to @tnlph and @the-captains-ayebrows for beta duties. I’d say more, but in the immortal words of one of you...“shit, I don’t know”. 

Need a Little Christmas (Part 2/3)

Emma was absolutely not hoping to run into anyone in particular as she made her way to Granny’s to meet David and Snow for coffee. She pulled her leather jacket around herself against the cold, the shoulders straining slightly over the bulk of her sweater du jour.

Despite the lack of specific holiday function, Granny’s “free cocoa with Christmas sweater” policy was all the reason Emma needed to pull one of her personal favourites out of the closet for the occasion, even if Henry was far less enthusiastic. Her son had been shaking his head in disbelief from the moment she had discovered the dabbing Santa sweater hidden in the racks of one of Storybrooke’s more discount clothing stores, and his disapproval had showed no sign of abating, even as he left to spend the holiday with his father.

Her phone beeped as if on cue.

Henry: Please tell me you didn’t wear it.

Chuckling to herself, Emma snapped a quick selfie, wishing she had been able to complete the look with a dab of her own. As much as she actually disliked the craze, she was never going to miss an opportunity to embarrass her twelve year old, so she wasted no time in replying with her photo, a smile on her face as she imagined his crinkled nose as he saw it.

His response was almost instantaneous and consisted mostly of emojis with their tongues poked out.

Reaching the door to Granny’s, she sent one last message to her boy and pushed her way inside. A blast of warm air hit her as she entered, scanning the booths for her brother and sister-in-law and staunchly ignoring the pang of disappointment when no tousled dark hair and flashing blue eyes appeared. Just like she’d been ignoring those same images since the night she’d met him.

It was just as well there had been no random meetings or awkward conversations, really. Far better not to start something that would inevitably end a spectacular disaster - and Killian Jones clearly had enough of his own issues to deal with without adding Emma and her total inability to handle the smallest of commitments to his plate. Outside of Henry - and even with him she had considered whether his best chance might lie somewhere other than with her for the briefest of moments - very little in Emma’s life had helped her to believe in happy endings.

Meeting David and Ruth, his mother; having them refuse to take no for an answer when she told them she didn’t deserve them had let her hope, for however short a time it might have been, that there was a chance of more for her. That she was worth loving, worth caring for. She’d even tried it for a while, let Neal in and trusted him with her heart, but as she sat in a courtroom and narrowly escaped incarceration, a tiny spark of life growing in her belly with Neal long gone and her world in tatters, Emma had realised the Nolans were merely an unlikely blip in the shitshow that was her life.

A highly persistent blip, however, and resilient to a fault - a fact reiterated as she spotted Snow’s wide smile across the diner, waving her over to their booth at the rear of the diner.

Sliding into the opposite bench seat, Emma looked defiant as David shook his head at her.

“Really? You’re so unsatisfied with pointing out the pointlessness of Christmas decorations that you need to make an added comment on ridiculous fads at the same time?”

“Yep,” Emma replied, picking up the menu and reading it thoroughly as if there was a chance Granny may have actually altered it in the last ten years. She grinned at her brother’s agitation. “You should call your nephew to bitch about it.”

“I might.” 

“Go ahead.”

Snow sighed, shaking her head good-naturedly at the pair of them. “Good to know that when the baby comes, he won’t be the most immature member of the family.”

“Not a chance, considering who his father is,” Emma muttered, just loud enough to be sure David heard her. Before he could react, Snow stepped in.

“Did Henry get off to Neal’s okay?” she asked Emma, ever the peacemaker. Emma nodded her response, Snow continuing before she had a chance to say a word. “And what about you? What are your plans while Henry is in the city? Girly movies? Long baths?  Any hot dates lined up?”

Snow was the picture of innocence as she asked the question, or would have been if it wasn’t for the knowing glint in her eye as she smiled encouragingly at Emma. It was far from the first time a suitably eligible man had been trotted out to make Emma’s acquaintance - if that’s what they were calling it these days - but it was the first time she had felt the pull to make something more of the moment.

But as that was not going to happen, it was nothing Snow needed to get excited about.

“Yeah,” Emma started, watching as her sister-in-law’s eyes lit up. “A date with some files that need updating and my pillow. Hot enough for you?”

To Snow’s credit, she tempered the disappointment on her face almost instantaneously. Almost.

“I thought you and Killian were hitting it off,” she began, only to be interrupted by the server delivering their drinks, coffee for David and steaming hot cocoa for Snow. Emma looked questioningly at them, and David rubbed Snow’s rounded belly.

“This kid waits for no one, sis,” he said apologetically. “I’m sure if you go and see Granny, she’ll speed your order up.”

With an exaggerated huff, Emma slid from the booth, secretly pleased to have avoided any more digging into her encounter with Killian Jones. For all her determination to push whatever attraction she felt for him to the side, she had a sneaking suspicion actually keeping said attraction from the eagle-eyed Snow would be far easier when not talking about him.

Granny smiled as she walked up to the counter. Not for the first time, Emma wondered whether the older woman’s Ugly Sweater/Free drink policy had more than a little to do with her own penchant for rather outlandish knitwear - and not limited to the festive season. Today she was bedecked in a riot of large red and green flowers, of no discernible species, with gold embroidery and beading marking the stamens. It was quite a lot to digest all at once, and Emma had mixed feelings as to whether she needed to look away or work out how to add it to her own personal collection.

“I hope you’ve given yourself a few free cocoas based on that sweater, Granny,” Emma said with a grin.

Granny’s eyes narrowed, confusion forming a deep furrow in her brow. “What do you mean?” she asked, no hint of humour in her voice.

Sudden panic filled Emma’s mind. Upsetting Granny was not ever a wise idea, especially not when her grilled cheese sandwiches were your staple diet. Stammering, Emma tried to backpedal. “I...no...I meant...”

“Ahoy there, Swan.”

She felt her shoulders slump. Rescued, but at what price? Turning to the source of the melodic voice, she came face to face with the smirking lips of Killian Jones, mentally kicking herself for the way her stomach clenched with want when one eyebrow shot up towards his hairline and his smile relaxed into one of genuine pleasure to see her.

Red suited him, she had to say, eyes scanning his frame as he slouched against Granny’s bar. He kept smiling at her and she struggled to string a coherent sentence together in response to his greeting.

“Hi,” was all that came out, more squeak than word and she cleared her throat, willing herself to get it together.  “Hi,” she repeated, stronger this time.  “Do you make a habit of just hanging around, leaning on counters in random places?”

The laugh again. She was going to have to stop being so damned funny.

“It’s one of my many talents, love,” he said, with a suggestive wink.

From behind the counter, Granny spluttered. Emma and Killian both turned to her, watching as she shook her head, eyes skyward and mouth quirked in amusement. She put down the glass she had been drying and indicated several points around the room. “Just in case anyone’s interested, mistletoe can be found there...there...there...and there.”

There was no time to protest, Granny slipping back into business mode before either of them could vehemently deny needing anything of the sort. “Now will that be free cocoa for both of you?”

Realising she had been too distracted by the workings of his face to pay attention to his outerwear, Emma ran her eyes over his sweater. She had noticed little beyond the red colour at first glance, but a closer look revealed intricate white details and the phrase “Merry Christmas ya filthy animal.” She raised her eyes to him, nodding in reluctant approval.

“A quality choice,” she said with a smile.

He placed a hand on his heart and made a mock bow. “I suspect your approval is not easily given, Swan, and thus I am honoured. Perhaps we could partake of our winnings together?”

Whatever effort he was making to hide the hope in his eyes, it was not quite enough. Emma’s mind started to race, looking from Granny’s amused face to Killian’s earnest one, panic setting in as she realised all her effort to put him from her mind were about to come to nothing - and that she was not quite as negative about that thought as would be ideal.

She looked at Granny. “I’d love my free cocoa - but I think the Captain here will need to make with the doubloons.”

Both watching faces furrowed in confusion. Granny just shook her head, mumbling something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “Here we go again” while Killian cocked his head, his smile slightly less self assured.

“Ugly pullover in return for free hot chocolate are the terms of the agreement, I believe, love?”

“Yes, exactly,” Emma replied, knowing she was being obtuse, argumentative even, but unable to stop the rollercoaster now she was on it. Panic did her no favours, and something about the way Killian Jones had made his way into her thoughts like he had never been anywhere else was definitely inciting panic.

And possibly a few other feelings Granny’s counter was not the place to explore.

“Ugly sweater,” she said, grabbing a handful of the acrylic covering his chest for emphasis. “There is nothing ugly about this sweater. It is an iconic Christmas sentiment from an iconic Christmas cinema masterpiece, that explores deep seated issues about abandonment and self-reliance and...burglary and...and…” She stopped mid stream, looking down at her hand, still tightly tangled in the fabric of his sweater, pulling it away from his neck and revealing a glimpse of dark, whorled chest hair and sun-roughened skin. She was afraid to make eye contact, unsure whether anger or amusement would meet her on his face.

The arched eyebrow and pink tongue darting out across his lips suggested amusement. Among other things.

“If you wished to divest me of my clothes, Swan, you need only have asked,” he said with a slow smile.

Bastard. Damn him and the rush of heat that flooded her body as she loosened her grip on him, dropping her hand hurriedly to her side. The best she could hope was that the warmth she felt low in her stomach didn’t creep its way up to her face, revealing to him just how interested parts of her were in making that very request. If the alarm bells were ringing before, they were full scale warning klaxons now and Emma could see only one course of action.

“I’ll let you know if I need a floorshow,” she said hurriedly, ignoring the way his smile was morphing into a wide grin, knowing it wasn’t going to stay that way for long. “But I’m pretty sure I won’t. I better get back to my table. See you round, Killian.”

She turned on her heels without watching his face change again, bypassing Snow and David and their booth for the relative safety of Granny’s back hallway. Stopping for a moment as the door to the dining room swung closed behind her, her eyes scanned the area for somewhere safe to gather her thoughts.

The ladies’ room it was.

Grateful the tiny bathroom was empty, Emma leaned against the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. Every bit of determination she had coming here, every certainty that a man like Killian Jones did not need someone like her messing him around, had been gone in a moment when faced with the reality of him and the strong connection that she knew was more than just lust.

Though it was certainly that, too.

Something about him felt right - safe and comfortable and real - and no matter how much she believed she was no good for him, every new meeting just lowered her resistance. She had Henry to consider, and she had no doubt he would adore Killian Jones; probably did already if he had come across him at school; but letting her kid get attached to the idea of them being together when there was no way she could make that happen was going to help no one. She sighed deeply, shaking her head at her own reflection.  Filling her hands with cool water, she splashed her face, patting it dry with paper towel, hoping her little sojourn had ensured the coast would be clear when she returned.

Emma pushed open the door back into the hall, so focused on choosing an excuse to give her family for bailing that she failed to see the obstacle that crossed her path. A solid, male obstacle who wrapped his arms around her shoulders to steady her as she tumbled forward and landed against the hard planes of his chest. Her hands came up instinctively, coming to rest against his torso as recognition flooded her system.

Along with a healthy dose of his spiced cologne, enough to keep her immobile against him for just the smallest second too long.

“Woah,” she exclaimed as she made a hurried step back from him. “Are you adding lurking to your list of talents now?”

He didn’t bite at her poor attempt at humour. “I’m rather afraid I offended you with my poor attempt at flirtation, Swan,” he said, the sincerity in his voice the only thing that stopped Emma from laughing out loud at the notion. “It seems I’m somewhat out of practice. It was never my intention to upset you.”

No, she had managed that all by herself and the unfairness of letting him take the blame for her own freak out was more than she could stand. “I’m not upset,” she half-whispered, “I’m just…” Broken? Damaged? Faltering on her admission, she leaned back against the wall of the corridor with a sigh.

He studied her for a moment, teeth worrying his bottom lip as his eyes searched hers, as if the answers to the myriad of questions he had to have might be found there. Then without a word, he moved next to her, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, legs crossed at the ankles, before patting the patch of floor beneath her and urging her to join him.

Fighting it was just too hard. Emma slid down beside him silently, curling her arms around her legs until her chin rested on her knees. They sat in silence for several moments, Emma supremely conscious of the steady in and out of his breathing and the heady scent of leather and salt that surrounded him. It was Killian’s voice that broke through the quiet.

“As ridiculous as these sweaters are, they’re quite important to you, aren’t they?”

Of all the things she had expected him to say, this was definitely bottom of the list. How did he do that? How was he able to see inside her thoughts, even when her public persona was so adamantly anti? As if to prove her point, he smiled warmly.

“Open book, remember?”

“I guess you missed my lectures about how pointless these things are? About the wastefulness of this whole Christmas consumer machine?”

Killian chuckled. “So it seems, Swan, more’s the pity. Having seen you in action earlier I’d imagine it’s quite something to see.”

Emma shrugged, uncurling herself and stretching her legs out to match his, relaxing into a slump next to the wall. Resistance seemed a pointless exercise - no matter how strong her resolve to keep him at arm’s length seemed to be, a few minutes in his presence seemed to make her want more. Still - she didn’t have to engage entirely. There was room for her protective barriers to hold at least a little.

His voice was soft and full of emotion when it broke the silence yet again.

“I wear them for my brother.”  

Lost in her own thoughts as she had been, Emma looked questioningly at him, unsure if she had missed part of the conversation. Seeing her confusion, he explained.

“Liam delighted in these ridiculous pullovers, searched high and low for the blasted things every year. The more mortifying to me, the better.”

Henry’s scrunched up face of frustration flashed into Emma’s mind and she couldn’t help but smile. “Your brother sounds like quite a guy,” she said.

The downturn of his head and the tiniest tremor in his voice told her she had struck a nerve. The mischief twinkling in his eyes in all their previous encounters was gone, replaced with something else entirely. Something raw and painful and all too familiar to Emma.

Loss was like a beacon to someone who had felt so much of it herself.

“Sorry…” she began, but Killian shushed her gently.

“It was a sailing accident in a December squall that took him. And this -” he gestured with this prosthetic - “and to say I didn’t handle it particularly well would be something of an understatement. Pushed everyone away and focused on being angry with the world for quite some time.”

He paused, fingers working against the fabric of his jeans as they sat side by side. The urge to cover his hand with hers was almost overwhelming, but Emma was saved from herself by Killian continuing his tale.

“When I finally shook myself out of the haze of self-pity and rum, I realised I needed to actually honour his memory in some real way and the first thing I thought about was these ridiculous sweaters. So when the holidays came around again I sourced the most nonsensical I could find and somehow it helped me feel closer to him. And that, my dear Swan, is my sad tale of holiday woe.”

The inexplicable connection Emma had felt from their first meeting was somehow less surprising now. Kindred spirits, Snow would say, minds and souls that understood each other because their experiences mirrored so closely. It was the only possible reason Emma could imagine for her own story slipping so easily from her lips.

The floodgates opened and she found herself sharing it all with him - abandonment as a baby, the horrors of the foster system, even Neal and finding herself alone and pregnant at seventeen. Emma couldn’t remember the last time she had been so open with another human being, if indeed she had ever been so forthcoming with her story. Throughout its telling, she waited for his face to change, for the inevitable look of pity or even mild disapproval she had seen so many times before to alter his features and remind her that no matter how comfortable she felt in this moment, it was all a pipe dream not meant for the likes of her.

It never did. Not once.

Instead, understanding shone in his eyes as he peppered her story with exclamations of support and encouragement. Emma breathed deeply as she finished, no idea what to do now that she had laid her heart bare before him. She should have known Killian would have it covered.

“So it appears in the matter of heartwarming Christmas memories, neither of us are destined to trouble the good people of Hallmark, Swan.” Emma cocked her head, one eyebrow raised at the truth of that statement. “But an especially hideous holiday sweater could be just the ticket to chase away some less than savoury associations, don’t you think?”

“Or a good way to stage a protest and be toasty warm at the same time.” Why she insisted on maintaining her facade when he so clearly saw through to her depths, Emma did not know, but she remained defiant. It had little effect on Killian and he merely chuckled at her stubbornness.

Her surprise at the depth of Killian’s understanding must have been clear on her face, but he made no further comment, as if he knew how far he could push before the thin veil of comfort that surrounded them cracked and she was gone. Although she really had little desire to go anywhere, she realised, conscious suddenly of the way his shoulder all but brushed hers, legs so close the smallest movement would bring them together.

They sat in silence - a comfortable, easy kind of quiet that Emma should have seen for what it was; the point of no return. No matter how strongly she believed starting something with Killian Jones was a bad idea, there was little doubt that something was starting and maintaining her denial was becoming a more difficult prospect with every moment.

She sighed heavily, the cold, hard floor of Granny’s hallway taking its toll as she shifted uncomfortably in a vain attempt to get some feeling back in her ass. Before she could settle herself back, Killian was pulling himself to his feet.

“The Nolans will worry you have met a nefarious end, Swan,” he said. “Perhaps I should return you to them.” With a smile, he held out his hand to her. After the briefest hesitation, Emma took it and allowed him to pull her up to stand, his strong fingers around hers sending tendrils of warmth creeping up her arm.

She should have let go, should have walked away in that moment when there was still a chance she could put aside the pull she felt towards him for the greater good. But instead she stayed, allowing her fingers to tangle with his as they inched into each other’s space, his prosthetic hovering tantalisingly close at her hip.

His feelings were written in his eyes, she realised, as the depths of their blue searched her face for some idea of how to proceed.  As if she knew.

“They make me feel like I’m part of something I never had,” she said in a trembling voice, unable to look away from this man who scared and comforted her in equal measure. His lips curved gently up, the softest of smiles as she allowed her walls to start to crumble. “The sweaters, I mean,” she added, knowing he would already understand but needing to say something, anything, to control the blinding urge to pull him hard against her and kiss him.

“If you can’t have a little hope at Christmas time, love, when can you?” he whispered, the arm at her hip touching her now, edging her ever so slightly closer to him. There was a hairsbreadth between them as he untangled his fingers from hers and brushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, his touch leaving tiny sparks on her skin as he trailed a fingertip down her cheek. “And all you need to do is open yourself up to the possibilities...”

His final syllables were swallowed as his lips pressed gently against hers, soft and firm all at once, Emma’s eyes closing as she was enveloped by his nearness. She froze for a split second, before feeling took over and she returned the kiss, her hands snaking up and into the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

His arm tightened around her, pulling her body in line with his as his fingers worked meaningless patterns up and down her arm. His mouth moved more insistently, tongue exploring the seam of her lips before he pulled back to breathe, blue eyes dark and clouded with desire. He left nothing hidden from her, his feelings painted on his face and his heart on his sleeve.

She breathed with him, faces so close it would be nothing to pull his lips back to hers and get lost in his kiss again; so easy to let the warmth of him flood her being and forget the rest of the world in his arms.

But when did Emma Swan do easy?

Cold fingers of panic gripped her heart as he leaned in again, the overwhelming sense of impending doom making her shuffle back and away from him. “I...um...I should get back,” she stammered, this time watching as she made his face crumble, knowing she deserved to see the pain she was causing this good, good man who needed someone so much better. Someone who could look at him the way he had looked at her, as if his kiss was a revelation of all that was right in the world.

Not that she was sure it wasn’t.

“Swan?” There was hurt in this voice; confusion and questions she didn’t have an answer to. Emma paused, uncertain how strong her resistance would be in the face of his disappointment. But instead of despair, she was met with resignation and a sad smile. “Merry Christmas, love,” he sighed, making no move to halt her retreat.  

She forced a neutral smile and muttered a hurried “Merry Christmas” in return, pushing her way through the doors leading back to the dining room before she could give in to the insistent voices in her head telling her to go back, to let him in and damn the consequences.

~~~**~~~

To say that regret underpinned Emma's emotional landscape in the days following their kiss would have been something of an understatement. If anything had ever proved the point that she was destined to screw up any relationship she tried to start, surely it was this...and yet Killian’s scent seemed to linger in the air around her, the thought of his lips on hers still igniting tiny sparks and the memory of his face as she walked away left a cold, clenching feeling in the pit of her stomach.

It was too quiet at the station, she thought, as she sunk her head into her hands, rubbing at her eyes in the hope of erasing the image of striking blue eyes that appeared in her mind at every opportunity. Too much time to reflect on what a fucking mess she was - unable to even try at having something with a halfway decent guy who was clearly into her.

As if Killian Jones was ‘halfway’ anything.

“Aaargh,” Emma huffed in frustration, her arms sweeping forward as she laid her head down on her desk. A stack of paperwork, already precarious in its positioning thanks to her less than stellar filing system, teetered on the edge before tumbling over and onto the floor, taking a plastic pot full of pens and a coffee mug - thankfully David’s - with it. Emma swore loudly as the resulting crash echoed through the empty office, banging her forehead against the desktop a couple of times out of sheer irritation.

Pushing her chair back forcefully, narrowly avoiding an equally noisy clash with her filing cabinet, she went to clean up the mess, slamming papers on the table in random piles, muttering curses under her breath as she did so.

Too loudly, it seemed, to realise she had a visitor.

“Steady on, Swan. What did that particular sheet of paper ever do to you?”

Emma froze, the sound of his voice enough to have her stomach flip-flopping and her heart beating out of her chest. By the time she steadied herself enough to turn around, Killian was crouched next to her, a stack of papers in his outstretched hand and a hopeful smile on his lips.

“Thanks,” Emma said quickly, taking the papers and adding them to her pile, more gently this time, cheeks pink with embarrassment at the possibility of him asking just how the contents of her desktop ended up on the floor.

It seemed she needn't have worried.  They worked in companionable silence, Emma watching surreptitiously as Killian’s nimble fingers picked the smallest of ceramic shards from the unfortunate mug, his brow furrowed with concentration as his prosthetic steadied him against the desk.

Heat flooded her face again, less embarrassment this time and more the result of scenes coming unbidden to her mind as she wondered at how else he might put that dexterity to use.

“A good hoovering should see you right Swan.”

Emma spluttered, eyes darting from his fingers to his face. She had no idea what he meant but the propensity of her brain to add dirty connotations was astounding and all she could hope was that the words ‘impure thoughts’ weren't written across her forehead in neon lights.

It seemed she was safe. He just shook his head and chuckled, apparently at himself. “Sorry love, forgot which continent I was on for a moment. Run this over with the vacuum and you'll be shipshape in no time.”

Oh. Cleaning. Right.

Before she could say a word he was on his feet. “I'm happy to do the honours,” he said with a grin. “Just point me in the direction of the cleaning supplies.”

Once again, Emma found herself choking on her words - but this time, the source of her inarticulation was something very different. Killian was wearing his trademark black skinny jeans and dark button down, but over the top was a black knit with all manner of Christmassy designs emblazoned across the front in repeating patterns. Clearly preparing to get to work, he began to remove his leather jacket and Emma was no longer able to contain herself.

“Oh my God, Jones, is that a sweater vest?” she asked incredulously. “Did you think this was the fashion police and come to turn yourself in?” Despite her earlier discomfort, and her lingering regrets over what might have been, this was familiar ground; a comfortable place to test the waters and hope that somehow, maybe, something of their connection could be salvaged from the ashes of her massive crash and burn.

“Aye, indeed it is, Swan. One of my particular favourites, I must say, despite your savage witticisms,” he said. His grin widened impossibly, and he made a show of modelling said sweater vest for its full impact. As Emma watched him primp and preen, pointing out the way the candy cane motif clashed hopelessly with the corresponding holly and ivy design, she found herself smiling back at him, the fears that had held her heart behind protective walls somehow seeming less important in the face of how being with him felt.

“Perhaps I have earned my complimentary cocoa from the Widow Lucas with this selection?” His voice was cool and even but as he bit down on his bottom lip and looked at her from beneath his thick, dark lashes, she had no doubt he could feel the shift in their encounter. He was issuing a challenge, she knew, and for once in her life she was not going to sabotage her own happiness. There was no need for words of regret and apology - not now, at least - because he knew what was in her heart better than she did.  

“Perhaps we should go and find out,” Emma replied, conscious of the heat that sparked in the atmosphere around them, matching her tone to his as she stepped ever so slightly towards him.

“Are you propositioning me, Swan?” he said, any attempt at lightness tempered slightly by a soft tremor in his voice.

Emma nodded, the resulting light in his blue eyes warming her to the core.

“A gentleman likes to be asked, love,” he said with a languid grin, his arched eyebrow and tiny crinkles in the corner of his eyes enough to have Emma swaying between kissing and slapping him.

She suspected he’d be okay either way.

Her confidence stuttered for the briefest second as she locked eyes with him, and the mischief in his face softened to something quite different - hope and encouragement that was just enough to see the words slide out in a rush.

“Killian, will you go out with me?”

His breath hitched as she swayed toward him and she reached a hand out to pinch a piece of the well-worn knit fabric between her fingers, toying with it slowly as her other hand crept up to rest against his chest. He tensed slightly under her touch - unsurprising, she supposed, when you considered how the last time they had been in this position ended - but Emma stood her ground, edging him back ever so slowly until he leaned against her desk and she stepped between his denim-clad legs. Her fingers traced the candy canes on his sweater and he sighed, his hand and prosthetic moving to rest on her hips with a featherlight touch.

She breathed out heavily when the tip of his tongue rolled across his lips, her eyes following its journey and her hands tangling in the fabric of his sweater once more. She was barely aware of him moving, so focused on the soft curve of his lips and the way her pulse was echoing in her head that his arms tightened around her before she knew it was happening. His mouth was on hers with a low, feral groan that Emma felt deep in her core. There was no hesitation, nothing sweet and slow about this kiss - it was heat and fire and passion and she never wanted it to end.

Killian’s tongue played at the seam of her lips, teasing and tantalising until she opened her mouth to allow him in, her hands wandering up and around his neck and into his lush, dark hair. They breathed together, eyes meeting as their eyelids fluttered open, the softest smile on Emma’s lips as Killian dragged his thumb along her chin before tangling his hand in her hair and pulling her back towards him for more.  

“Emma! Have you seen the heavy duty flashlight?” David’s voice rang through the hallway and Emma sprang back from Killian, hastily running a hand through her soft curls before he rounded the corner.

She supposed she should be grateful it was David and not his wife who had arrived unexpectedly. Snow would have made short work of the clues at hand - blown pupils, mussed hair, a sweater vest somewhat askew - but David just looked surprised at Killian’s presence.

“Killian,” he said, with a hearty slap on the shoulder for the man in question. “Were we supposed to talk about that field trip you asked about today? I hope Emma looked after you.”

The twinkle in his eye at that opportunity was downright dangerous. “She did indeed,” he drawled and Emma fought the urge to slap him hard. She satisfied herself with a harsh glare - which he completely ignored as he continued.  “Actually Swan here was asking me a question. Weren't you Swan?” he said, voice heavy with mischief.

That slapping now seemed even more of an option.

“Was I?” she asked, the arch on her eyebrow a match for anything Killian’s had ever had to offer. There was a curious expression on David’s face as he looked from Emma to Killian and back again.

Although it was nothing on the salacious grin on Killian’s.

“Indeed you were, Swan, it was just before you stepped over here and…”

“Okay, okay,” she exclaimed, interrupting him before David’s widening eyes did him some kind of permanent damage. “Well, will you?”

She didn’t know what she expected - more banter or saucy eyebrow wiggling, probably - but it wasn’t the way his face softened, lips curling up into a smile that brought tiny crinkles to the corners of his eyes. David’s presence was somehow no longer relevant as Emma realised just what her change of heart meant to Killian.

“I humbly accept on one condition, love,” he  smiled, “As long as I can plan the date.”

David made a tiny squeak of surprise, but Emma saw only Killian.

“Didn’t I already do that?  I thought we were going to Granny's to see if she knew a truly awful sweater when she sees one,” she quipped.

“Oh Swan,” he said with a fond shake of his head, as if she were under some delusion. “You know how to chase a criminal, but I know how to plan an evening out. Shall we say Saturday evening? At 7?”

The voice that answered him was not at all what any of them had expected. Except, maybe, for David.

“She'll be there.” Snow’s voice, slightly tinny from the echo in the sheriff’s office, reverberated around them. Emma turned to her brother, face incredulous as David held out his phone, shrugging as if to say there had been no option but to share what he had discovered. “In fact, pick her up at the loft. I’m not going to risk any cold feet on this one.”

Emma felt heat rise in her cheeks. “You said that last bit out loud,” she snapped, snatching the phone from her brother’s hand. “Goodbye Snow.” Emma tapped the end call button hard and handed the device back to David, who had the good grace to at least look embarrassed. For a moment she thought he was going to say something, but her pointed stare towards his office sent him backing away without a word, his phone stored hastily in his pocket before some harm mysteriously came to it.

Killian leaned casually against her desk, still perched where he had been when she had been fused to him only minutes earlier, a wide grin on his handsome face as Emma turned to face him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, fighting the urge to smile right back at him and his stupid twinkling blue eyes. “You’re not much better.”

As expected, her chastising him had very little effect. “I’m delightfully charming, Swan, and you know it,” he said with a lopsided wink and a pop on the ‘t’ that made Emma’s knees sway dangerously.

Although she had no intention of letting him know that.

“Well just remember, pirate, I don’t pillage and plunder on the first date,” she quipped, hoping the challenge in her voice masked any evidence of the swooping feelings in her stomach, especially as he met her gaze and intensified his own.

“That’s because you haven’t been out with me yet,” he replied without a beat, holding her helpless in his stare until he smiled softly again, the heat in his eyes replaced with genuine affection as he reached out for her hand. She gave it willingly and he brought it to his lips, his breath warm as his scruff tickled her skin. “Till Saturday, love.”

Emma could only nod as he turned and headed to the door. In that moment, Saturday seemed like an age away.

[lilacmoon83]

Once Upon a Snowing

AN: A little Evil Snowing tonight, post 6x2. Snow and David join Regina at Charlotte's and the Count's gravesites to pay their respects. They help Regina come to terms with her part in their deaths. Some Evil Snowing banter too. :) Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Have a prompt? Comment or message me and I'll see what I can do.

Once Upon a Snowing

Peace

Two more lives. Two more lives she was responsible for ruining. The Queen was still alive and though she could pretend that they were separate entities now, she knew better. Her other half was right. She should have known it wouldn't be so easy to rid herself of that part of her life.

"I'm sorry…you died because of me," she said, to the count, as she looked at Charlotte's grave. She didn't even know this woman. She was the very definition of an innocent. She had just been unfortunate enough to be caught between her and Rumple's game all those years ago.

"I hope you finally have peace," Regina said, as she heard footsteps behind her. Snow and David, hand in hand, joined her at the gravesite.

"He died, because I was so thirsty for vengeance. So many have died in the name of my revenge," Regina lamented.

"But you've changed. She's not going to win...she's not going to tear this family apart. Not again," Snow insisted.

"I want to believe that, but good doesn't always win, as much as you want to hope it does, Snow. Good didn't win for Charlotte," Regina said.

"I don't even remember her drinking the wine that night, but it was a long time ago," David mentioned.

"She wouldn't have if not for Rumple. I may have hired the Count to kill you, but he didn't want to do it once he met you. Somehow, you managed to convince a man that lived on his revenge for years to give that up in the space of a few days," Regina said, with mild annoyance.

"I think we all know that it had less to do with us and more to do with Charlotte," David replied.

"He barely knew her," Regina commented. He shrugged.

"Yeah, sometimes a look is all it takes," he replied, as Snow smiled at him.

"I wish I'd known. We always thought Charlotte went home to her family. She was a good friend," Snow mentioned.

"An innocent that got caught between my resistance to Rumple. He wanted you alive. I wanted you dead. Charlotte got caught in the crossfire," Regina replied.

"He wanted you to cast the curse, which meant he needed the Savior to be born," David recalled. She nodded.

"To use his words, he needed you two alive and...procreating," she commented.

"Well, that's not creepy or anything," Snow deadpanned. David shrugged.

"Well, mission accomplished anyway," he joked, as Snow elbowed him playfully in the ribs. He smiled and put his arms around her.

"Just when I think you lovebirds can't get any sappier," Regina said sarcastically.

"In all seriousness Regina, this isn't your fault," Snow soothed.

"I know you want to believe that, Snow, but it is my fault. I put him on this path. I sought him out, I appealed to his need for revenge. I told him if he did one job for me, if he murdered my enemies for me, I'd give him the names of all the people that had wronged him. Rumple may have had a hand in Charlotte's death, but they would both still be alive if I hadn't sought him out. If I hadn't been so desperate to see you both dead," Regina said.

"We've forgiven you," Snow pleaded.

"Why? How do you forgive what I've done? Especially now that the Queen's out and obviously gunning for you two again," Regina exclaimed. Snow tried to hide her worry about the Queen, but it was there in her expression. Regina could see it in the way her brow furrowed and the way she clutched Charming's arm.

"I know you've forgiven me. It's always been easy for you to put aside what I've done, because you've always managed to be happy. Because you're together. There was a time where I did everything in my power to separate you. I did just that during the curse and you were both miserable. She's going to find a way," Regina warned.

"Nothing can ever truly separate us," David said, as he squeezed Snow's hand.

"I'll admit, it hasn't always been easy for me to forgive you as it has been for Snow," he said. Regina's upper lip turned upward in a smirk.

"Yeah, I've gotten that impression over the years," she commented.

"What changed for you?" Regina asked curiously.

"Splitting Snow's heart," he replied. Her brow furrowed.

"She did that...your true love is the only reason that's probably even possible. I doubt it would work on another couple if you want my opinion," Regina replied. David smiled.

"But you were there to split it for her. She couldn't have done that part on her own. You had a golden opportunity to let me die and see her in pain. But you chose to give preserve her happiness by helping her split her heart so I could live," he told her. Snow smiled, as she saw how touched Regina looked.

"Because of you, I'm here for my wife and my daughter. I'm here to help her raise our son. He won't grow up without a father like I did. You did that. You may have done a lot of bad, but you've done a lot of good too," he stressed. Snow gave him a watery smile and leaned into his embrace.

"From what I know, the Count didn't have a lot of peace even before he met us. We can only hope they both can find peace together in the afterlife," David added. Regina nodded slightly.

"Thank you. I think I just need a few more minutes here to myself," she said. They nodded.

"We'll be at the diner with Emma and Henry," Snow said, as they slowly walked away, arms around each other, and back to David's truck.

"Thank you," Snow said, as she looked up at him.

"For what?" he asked.

"I know it hasn't always been easy for you to forgive her. I know in the past you did it for me. I'm not naive, I know that when I stayed her execution all those years ago that more people died because of it. I'm just as responsible," Snow said.

"No...please don't do this to yourself. Wanting to see the good in people is never wrong. You weren't responsible for anything she did," David insisted.

"Some people probably don't see it that way," she replied. He cupped her face in his hands and gazed into her eyes.

"They don't know you like I do. Your incredible compassion is to be envied. If there is someone that doesn't understand that, then they aren't worth your time," he said passionately. She pressed her forehead against his and he gently wiped a few of her tears away.

"You are my light, Snow. It's really easy for me to think about all the what ifs. But then I just have to look at everything we do have. I just have to look at you. At our daughter and our son. At our grandson...and I can let all of those what ifs go," he said.

"Charming…" she sniffed, as she caressed his face and he lowered his lips to her, kissing her tenderly. He pulled her flush against him, as he moved his lips over hers passionately, basking in their love.

"Are you two going to make out here all day or are you going to be useful and give me a lift to the diner?" Regina interrupted in an annoyed tone. Snow smiled into his kiss, as their lips parted. Charming shrugged.

"You know, I always thought Henry got his rotten timing from Emma, but now I'm starting to see that he got it from you," David joked. She smirked.

"Or maybe you two just can't keep your hands to yourselves longer than five minutes. The list of people that have walked in on your amorous activities is a little embarrassing," she joked back. Charming grinned, as Snow looked sheepish.

"That's not embarrassing. That's relationship goals," he retorted, as he wriggled his eyebrows at Snow, making her giggle. Regina rolled her eyes, as he kissed her quickly again and they piled into the truck.

"Speaking of embarrassment...this truck is as bad as your daughter's yellow death trap," Regina complained.

"Well, you cursed me with this, death trap as you put it, Your Majesty, so that's actually your fault," David retorted.

"Just drive us to the diner, Charming," she shot back playfully. Snow smiled happily.

No one, not even the Evil Queen, was going to tear them apart this time.

[jamjarsthebook-blog]

Jam Jars: Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Emma had finished showing Vera around the grounds. The extent of sporting equipment was ludicrous, and verging on obnoxious. Its only saving grace was that, unlike the fancy houses of West Bochardess, the cottage and its facilities were tucked away in a forest and so were purely functional, not a needless show of wealth. “Swimming pool…Running track…” Vera furrowed her brows and squeezed her eyes shut tightly, Emma had challenged her to list all the facilities from memory. She clenched her fists as she racked her brain, “Don’t tell me, don’t tell me.” She murmured, opening her eyes and looking at the wooden table her arms rested on.

“Squash court.” Emma explained. Vera’s gaze snapped up to her in a glare,

“Do you not understand the meaning of don’t tell me?”

“And you also missed out the trampoline.” Emma smiled smugly, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. Vera gave a laugh,

“How many sport’s facilities can one girl need?” She scoffed. Emma’s green eyes fastened themselves on the ground, she mumbled a few words Vera didn’t hear. “Pardon?” Vera asked, wondering what Emma had said. The girl gave a shrug,

“Nothing.” She paused, then looked Vera up and down, “What’s your surname?” Vera noted the swerve in conversation but went along with it. If the girl had secrets she could keep them to herself. Vera couldn’t care less.  

“Ivanova.”

“Middle name?”
 “My parents didn’t bother.”

“Oh.” Emma was silent, then, “Nothing’s better than something like ‘Gertrude’.”

“You’re middle name’s Gertrude?” Vera arched an eyebrow. Emma looked up at her, then flailed her arms in protest,

“No, no, I just meant as an example-”

“What is it you have against the name Gertrude, anyway?” Vera added, faking annoyance with a narrow of her eyes. Emma looked taken aback,

“No, honestly, I was just picking a name I thought sounded odd… I mean, I’m sure it’s a lovely name, really, it’s just…” Emma seemed flustered and Vera couldn’t help the small glee in the pit of her stomach. She leant back,

“I’m kidding.” She relented. Emma paused, then calmed herself. Vera’s expression was neutral as she examined the other girl. She was happy to make idle chat, but she had no intention of getting to know her. Given her father’s behaviour, she wouldn’t be surprised if there was some underlying insanity to the daughter.

“Your surname,” Emma asked, “It doesn’t sound…” Emma searched for the word, Vera guessed the coming question,

“Bochardian?”

“Exactly. It doesn’t sound Bochardian.”

“I’d hope not. It’s Russian.” Vera explained, folding her arms over her chest. Emma’s face fell into awe,

“You’re…” She leant in, “Russian?” Vera gave a slight nod of her head. Emma broke into a smile, “Привет меня зовут Эмма.” she said. Vera stared blankly at her. The girl switched back to the native language when she got no response. “Can you help me learn some Russian?” Vera furrowed her brows,

“I don’t speak Russian, I just have Russian ancestry.”

“So?” Emma shrugged.Vera tilted her head,

“How could I possibly teach you Russian if I can’t speak it myself?” Vera hissed.

“Oh.” Emma trailed off, “Fair point.”

“It’s a miracle…” Vera breathed sarcastically, “It can talk without needing a brain.” Emma scowled at her, and Brown Eyes felt, with a sinking send elf dread, that this job would become very tiresome very quickly. It looked at if Emma was about to say something more, but whatever it was, she was interrupted by the noise of a motorbike screeching its way through the front gates and onto the drive. It was the most deafening sound Vera had heard, which, considering she’d heard gunshots before, was an achievement. Emma paused, her face a picture of disbelief. Then, above the noise,

“Are we due visitors?” Vera glanced out the window, rising to her feet as the sound dimmed, the drag of the conversation being replaced with apprehension.

“Yes.” Was her only answer. She walked past Emma with purpose, grabbing her jacket off the coat rack, and went to the front door. Whoever this was Gortald himself had assigned them to be Emma’s bodyguard. There was no doubt in Vera’s mind that they had to be one of the most loathsome human beings on the planet, given how horrid John had been. She mentally prepared herself and opened the door, taking a moment to slip on her shoes before walking out onto the gravel. Emma had pulled on her coat and followed out after Vera, standing slightly behind the taller girl as if trying to hide, peaking out to get a view of the new person. Brown eyes cast a glance down at the shorter girl in frustration. She’d only known the girl half a day and she was already acting like she a child. Bodyguard. More like babysitter. She thought bitterly.

Whoever this new person was, they were of average height, their skin pale. The motorbike was the most obnoxious red Vera had ever seen and the owner wore a red leather jacket to match it. Despite having not one, but two, helmets attached to the back of their vehicle the person had decided to wear neither, opting instead for large, black sunglasses. In the middle of winter. Vera added to herself. The person, Vera presumed male, parked the bike and swung their leg over, pausing to look around before settling his gaze on the two of them. Emma shrank back, Vera straightened to her full height. The man grabbed a coffee cup that, somehow, had been sitting upright on the motorcycle’s seat and sauntered his way over to them. He craned his neck to look up at the cottage, and Vera cast her mind back to when she’d first set her eyes on the gorgeous structure, to how impressed she’d been at its beauty.

“Pathetic house.” The lithe man murmured to Vera’s surprise, glancing down to look at her and Emma, “Oh, and owners to match.” He stopped in front of them and pulled his sunglasses down to peer at them. His brown eyes were framed by dark black eye brows, and sleek, short, black hair. Vera glanced behind him, at the red motorbike, and opened her mouth to comment on its bright colour. She knew how to drive motorbikes, but she didn’t own one. If she did, she’d be sure to get one in a more subtle colour. “Touch it, you die.” The man said, pushing his sunglasses back on and walking swiftly past her and into the house, pulling a phone out of his pocket and typing away on it. Emma and Vera turned to watch after him. Emma let out a small question of confusion,

“Who are-?”

“Name’s Tsuru.” He cut her off, her voice hinting at adolescence despite looking in his late-twenties. Then he disappeared into the downstairs spare room, slamming the door behind him. Silence settled over the two girls. Vera let out a breath,

“Well. That’s one way to make an introduction.” She looked down at Emma who looked up at her in silence. Then,

“You weren’t any more pleasant.” Emma pointed out. Vera’s brows furrowed,

“What are you talking about?” She snapped, hands on hips, looking down at the girl in offence. And John thought I was direct. Emma gave a small, crooked smile, looking at the ground,

“You just stared at me, then made a face and slammed the door.” She reminded her, looking back up. Vera sneered and let out a breath, looking off over the green ground. Emma piped up, “Yeah! That face right there!” Vera’s hands dropped to her side and she turned to go back inside the cottage in a strop,

“Whatever.” She muttered indignantly, clenching her fists. The daughter was proving to be highly irritating.

“I almost can’t tell you two apart.” Emma continued her teasing, following after Vera, closing the door behind them. Vera glanced back at her with narrowed eyes but said nothing.  

“When you two are done flirting,” Tsuru’s voice pulled Vera’s gaze back in front of her, causing a blush of red to spread across Emma’s cheeks, and probably Vera’s own, which she opted to ignore. Tsuru had reappeared from his room, having lost the red jacket and sunglasses, now just wearing a cream top and grey jeans, “I’d like to have some lunch.” He announced.  Vera raised an eyebrow,

“Good to know.” She said, gesturing towards the kitchen. Emma didn’t seem fazed by the rude demand.

“Yeah, I’m hungry.” Emma complained, patting her stomach sadly. Vera shot her a look.

“Hi Hungry, I’m Tsuru.” He joked, flashing a smug smile and a wink. Vera’s brain couldn’t comprehend how someone could tell such a joke. It almost defied logic. Both of them are naturally irritating. Vera realised in horror. She glanced down at the daughter and noticed that she was just as stunned. Vera took her gaze away swiftly, then looked back at her a second time. The girl seemed lost,

“It was a pun.” Vera clarified. Emma looked up at her with eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “He knows your name isn’t actually ‘hungry’.” Emma looked relieved, and Vera couldn’t hold back the feeling of frustration. This girl was just so slow, it was agonising to watch. Tsuru gave Emma a disapproving look as he walked past them and into the dining room.

“That makes more sense.” Emma gave a nod. Tsuru let out a low whistle,

“Now that we have introductions out the way, please tell me you’re redecorating soon.” He murmured, looking around the place. Vera reckoned her and Tsuru’s taste for décor were very distinct from each other.

“No.” Emma retorted stubbornly.

“I suppose light does travel faster than sound.” He mused.

“What?” Emma asked in confusion, looking at the boy poking around the cabinet intrusively.

“Well, you appeared bright before I heard you speak.” He sniped as he turned his attention to the arch way that led into the kitchen. Emma seemed unfazed, amused, even.

“Can you just stop, please?” Vera asked, coming to her wits end, not as tolerant of Tsuru’s humour as Emma was. Emma gave a small laugh and Vera looked down at her in puzzlement. The shorter girl gave a shrug, trying to contain her smile,

“He’s kinda funny.” She whispered, “I like him.” Vera was going to respond but Tsuru beat her to it, somehow having heard from the kitchen. His voice carried out to them in the sitting room,

“My charms strike again, I see.” Vera hunched over and let out a long breath, then turned her head to Emma,

“Don’t encourage him.” She grumbled, stalking off to the kitchen, straightening her posture along the way.

“Sorry.” Emma said in a light tone and hurried after her. Tsuru had opened all the cupboards and spilt the contents onto the kitchen surfaces. He was fumbling with a bag of bread. Vera stood still, her skin crawling at the unorganised mess Tsuru had managed to unleash in a few moments. Vera had thought the room untidy before, but now the clutter was sending her mind into a frenzy.

“Hey, Hungry, where do you keep the butter? All I could find was this… stuff.” He gestured in disgust to what looked like a butter container but said ‘dairy free’ on the front.

“Oh…uh.” Emma stalled a bit, twiddling her fingers. Tsuru opened the bag and pulled the bread out, then looked back at Emma when she didn’t respond. His face fell.

“Don’t tell me…” He breathed in dread. Vera turned her brown eyes down to Emma, not following.

“I don’t eat animal products.” Emma revealed. Tsuru stood very still, staring at her in silence as if he wasn’t sure she was being serious. Vera glanced between Emma and Tsuru, not understanding what all the fuss was about. As long as one has sustenance to survive, what else matters? She thought in confusion. She had been all too familiar with starvation in the past. Tsuru let out a long breath,

“Not even chicken?” He croaked out. Emma shook her head, Tsuru’s voice raised to a terrified squeak, “Bacon?” Emma smiled sympathetically and shook her head once more. Tsuru lowered his eyes in defeat, letting the bag of bread drop to the counter. “Dear God…”

“Food is food.” Vera cut in sharply, pointing at the masses of the stuff Tsuru had raided. The boy looked around himself as if lost, and Vera felt her frustration growing. Tsuru snapped out of his stupor,

“Right, grass and dirt for breakfast, lunch and dinner and my salty tears to drink. I’m sure I can manage.” He spurred into action, grabbed everything green in sight. He reached for a plant on the window sill and Vera had to take it out of his hands before he began chopping,

“This is an orchid.” She pointed out, putting it back and starting to clean the room up.

“Okay. You.” Tsuru pointed at Emma, “Hungry, find me something that’s long, hard and has cum in it.” Vera’s eyes widened and her breath hitched in shock. She stopped her organising to turn dark, hateful eyes on him. He’d crossed a line there, Vera couldn’t tolerate inappropriate comments.

“Uurgoe, Tsuru!” She hissed, cursing the Bochardian way and cuffing him over the head forcefully. Tsuru flinched and feigned emotional hurt, even going as far as to place his hand on his heart.

“Found it!” Emma said gleefully, holding out a cucumber to Tsuru, who smiled pleasantly at her. Vera took a moment to apply Tsuru’s criteria to the vegetable and put her face in her hands, letting out a long groan.

“Thank you,” Tsuru said to Emma, then looked pointedly at Vera, “At least one of you is nice.” Vera protested,

“I thought-”

“What a dirty mind.” Tsuru tutted, chopping the cucumber. Vera glared at him, her fists clenching. Emma grabbed Vera’s arm and gently guided her away from the man making cucumber sandwiches, Vera recoiled from the contact and snatched her arm away, glaring down at the girl.

“Deep breaths.” Emma murmured jokingly, having led her back into the sitting room. Vera had been wrong; this wasn’t one of the most loathsome human being on the planet. This was the most loathsome human being on the planet. I’m going to murder Tsuru, and then Gortald. She resolved. “Hey!” Emma’s soft voice brought her back to the present, and out of her growing temper. The girl had reached up and given her cheek a small pat with her hand to bring her focus back. Vera flinched away and took a few paces backwards, Personal space! Her mind screamed. Vera found herself looking at the shorter girls face, and Emma returning the look in kind, “He’s just messing with you, ignore him.” Vera hated comments like this. When had ‘calm down’ or ‘ignore him’ ever actually calmed someone down? But, in spite of herself, she knew she needed to take a breather. She forced her heart rate to fall, her fists to unclench and her muscles to relax. She straightened up,

“You’re right.” She relented, looking straight ahead of her, “But I’ll be damned if I’m not putting bugs under his pillow tonight.” She added bitterly. Emma tried not to laugh at that but it just came out as an abrupt snort, and Vera had to fight the urge to join in, though a smile tugged at her lips for a brief second.

“Hey!” Tsuru interrupted, slamming a plate of cucumber sandwiches on the round table by the bay window, “Bone app the teeth.” Vera and Emma looked at him blankly. Tsuru gave a grunt of resignation, stalking off into the hallway and presumably to his room, “They don’t even know memes.” Vera heard him say. She paused as the room settled back into silence, the whirlwind that was Tsuru gone. She looked down at Emma, who looked up at her, and then they looked at the sandwiches. Emma laughed again, and Vera might have smiled just one more time. Emma stilled, something occurring to her, then looked up at Vera,

“I haven’t shown you your room.” She exclaimed, and then with little warning scurried out the room and up the stairs. Vera took a moment to register the sudden departure and then followed with less enthusiasm. She picked up her bag and ascended the stair case. Emma was standing in front of a door at the end of the hallway. Vera glanced over her shoulder and looked up the stairs leading to the top floor. She pointed at the door, 
“What’s through there?” She asked. Emma looked up there and her expression deepened forebodingly.

“We’re not allowed up there.” She murmured deeply, “Ever.” Vera glanced at her, and then the door, and let the topic drop. Emma turned her attention back to Vera’s bedroom door and pushed it open. Vera caught a glimpse of her room. Gortald hadn’t been lying, it was minuscule. It had grey walls and a plain carpet and looked to have been a washing room previously, given the washing machine and ironing board which took up a third of the room. The rest was occupied by one chest of draws, a small bed with plain grey sheets, and a tiny bed side table with an old lamp a top it. Only a small space was left for Vera, in which she could just about make a full turn. Emma looked up at her guiltily, “Sorry.” She murmured. Vera didn’t need an apology, she entered the room and breathed in the air, feeling refreshed by the small, functional space. It was all she could ask for.

“Perfect.” She commented, placing her back pack carefully atop the chest of draws, lining the straps up so that they were straight and parallel. She dismissed Emma with a wave of her hand and began unpacking her bag. This will do. She thought contentedly to herself. Vera felt eyes on her and turned to see Emma still standing there, looking confused. “You can go now.” Vera reinforced her earlier sentiment. Emma’s looked changed from confused to understanding, and then to disappointment,

“Right.” She muttered and slowly thudded her way back down the hall and to her bedroom. Vera shook her head and sneered. What a strange girl. She finished unpacking and went downstairs. She spent a few hours organising the kitchen, a couple more cleaning. She even prepared a meal for tonight. But eventually the tasks she could perform were exhausted. Vera was forced to settle down on the cream coloured couch, keeping as far away as she could from the pink one, with some reading material she’d found that seemed the most uncontroversial. Emma was off doing whatever it was Emma did, and Tsuru had locked himself in his room, the faint noise of him typing on his phone could be heard through the door, and so Vera was left in peace to read. She started with some philosophy books, but the sentences were needlessly long and complex and it drove Vera mad. Sometimes she found herself lost in the words, unable to remember how the sentence had begun. It didn’t take her long to give up on the eccentric writings of philosophers and swap to a magazine about economics. She found her luck no better there, either, and was soon just sitting, quietly observing the room. Boredom crept up her as fast as she’d expected, and she couldn’t push the image of that bag of sunshine out of her head, the syringes just lying there, unused. She sprung to her feet and paced around, examining the room, but her mind never wandered off the prospect of more drugs. Her fingers twitched with an insatiable urge, and she fled to the kitchen. If I can’t have sunshine, the least I can have is a jam jar. She thrust open the fridge. She knew there were no jam jars in there, she’d memorised exactly what food was kept in the appliance, but she couldn’t help it. She overturned boxes and pushed aside cartons, the order she’d enforced crumbling at the end of her desperate finger tips. Emma crept up on her without her realising, leaning down next to her, her head just to the right of hers. The other girl peered into the fridge in interest,

“What are you doing?” She whispered secretively. Vera jumped and fell over onto her back in a heap, crawling away from the source of the noise in a mild panic. She stilled and looked, sat on the floor and breathing heavily, at Emma. Brown Eyes did not like being snuck up on, and she shot daggers at Emma in fury,

“Do not sneak up on me.” Her words were dark and low. Emma didn’t take note of her tone, or chose not to, and repeated her earlier question.

“What were you doing?” She asked, gesturing at the attacked fridge. Vera glanced at the fridge and then to Emma.

“I…” Vera’s voice cut itself off, and she had to swallow and take a breath, getting herself to her feet and standing to her full height. “I was looking for jam jars.” She admitted. It might seem trivial, but to Vera felt like such a personal thing to reveal when just meeting someone, but she hadn’t had much choice. Emma tilted her head, and Vera felt the incoming question like a tidal wave crashing over her.

“Why?”

Vera’s eyes went fuzzy, she swayed on her feet. Her fists clenched and she had to take another, shaky breath, grounding herself.

“I don’t know.” She lied. Emma seemed unconvinced. Vera looked to the side, uncomfortable under the shorter girl’s scrutinising gaze. “I was bored.”

“So you were looking for a jam jar?” Emma gave a small laugh, “That’s a bit strange.”

“Leave it.” Vera hissed, pointing at the ground for emphasis. Emma stunned, and then gave a small nod,

“Sure.” She said, confused, then, “When I’m bored I read.”

“I’ve tried that.” Vera grumbled, opening the fridge and tentatively rearranging it.

“I also play instruments when I’m bored, or play sports, or-”

“I don’t care what you do when you’re bored.” Vera sneered, putting a carton of almond milk back on its shelf. She just wanted this girl to leave and stop pestering her. Emma was silent and Vera hoped she’d left, but then she spoke once more. Quieter this time,

“I don’t know what my Mum did when she was bored, she died when I was young, but when my Dad’s bored he drinks.” She offered, “ And debates. He debates quite a lot when he drinks.” Emma stalled, “But I don’t know where he keeps his wine.” She trailed off, looking around. Vera finished with the fridge and stood up, shutting it. She looked at Emma, she hadn’t ever drunk much in one go, but she was familiar with how it could affect people. Maybe it could offer some relief. She thought, her urge for sunshine feeling like a sickness below her skin, so much so that she’d paid Emma’s comment of her mother’s death no heed. the only thing occupying Vera’s thoughts was how to ease her want for sunshine. Brown Eyes knew it was a dreadful idea to get drunk, especially on her first night at her new job, but she was so desperate to quell her need for sunshine that she’d stop caring. Vera set her mind to guessing where John might keep his alcohol. Her eyes strayed down to the floor, then once her mind had found an answer, snapped back to Emma. The girl had presumably lived in this house her whole life without ever discovering the wine. Therefore, Vera could think of only one explanation as to where it was.

“I can make one guess.” She grumbled, marching past Emma and upstairs. Emma followed her with rushed footsteps as they ascended the stairs. Vera paused at Emma’s bedroom door. She looked down at Emma, “May I?” She asked, gesturing at the door.

“Sure, but I don’t see how…” Emma trailed off as Vera entered Emma’s room and stalked over to the vanity, going through her things. “What are you looking for?” Vera sneered in frustration.

“A bobby pin.” She explained. Emma started,

“Oh, you should have said so.” The girl then proceeded to pluck one carefully out of her hair. She held it out to Vera. “What do you need it for?” Vera didn’t answer, only snatched the pin from her with a look of triumph gracing her eyes. She smirked, then went back out into the hallway, walking up the stairs to the locked door. Brown Eyes presumed it led to John’s bedroom and office, given those rooms were not located anywhere else in the house. “Wait! You can’t!” Emma protested fearfully. Vera shrugged as she knelt down by the door and slotted the pin into the lock,

“Why not?” Vera had an insurmountable respect for privacy – or so she’d thought. A man like John was made to have his belongings poked through, he reeked of secrets. And anyway, Vera wasn’t looking for secrets, she was looking for booze. Oh great, so you’re stealing wine rather than information. That makes it okay. Her conscience scolded her. “Shut up.” She muttered to herself. Her conscience took a back seat when she needed a fix.

“I wasn’t saying anything.” Emma responded in confusion. Vera glanced at her, Emma was now knelt down beside her, looking at the door with apprehension and what Vera thought was a hint of excitement.

“Nothing.” She muttered, returning her attention to the lock. The door clicked and swung open and Vera felt revulsion crawl up her back. The room was darkened, the curtains drawn, but in the shadows she could make out a large bed with a mountain of pillows. Needless extravagance. Emma’s room is just like this. Her mind reminded her, and Vera puzzled at that. It was true. That’s different.She protested with herself, standing and entering the room with caution. How so? Vera blinked. I don’t know, it just… is. Brown Eyes turned her attention to the room. An oak desk was stationed by a window, and porcelain cups and cabinets from foreign countries dotted the large space. File draws boasted more complicated looking locks, and there, in the corner by a sofa covered in a fur blanket, was a wine case. “There.” Vera breathed, approaching the thing as if it were a wild animal. Emma hesitated at the entrance,

“I really don’t think we should do this.” She whined. Vera looked back at her in frustration,

“Then leave.” She hissed, “John isn’t here, you have no reason to follow what he says.” She added, her words holding a sting to them that she knew wasn’t fair. She turned back to the wine cabinet and opened it, wondering what she should choose. To her surprise, she heard footsteps join her at the cupboard, and looked down to see Emma standing there, hands grasped tightly together in worry. Emma glanced sheepishly up at her,

“You could have put it nicer but… You’re right.” She said. Vera was still. Something beneath Emma’s words sparked worry in her. The hints of fear, of timidity, made Vera’s mind ponder on what could have caused such emotions. Vera pushed the thoughts from her mind and grabbed a few bottles before leaving the room. Emma followed more slowly, taking a few moments to look around a place Vera presumed she’d never seen. Emma paused to examine a document on the desk. She frowned, “Who’s Theodoric…?” She muttered.

“Come on.” Vera called impatiently from the doorway. Emma looked away from the document on the desk and left the room, closing the door and descending the stairs after her. Vera chucked one of the bottles at Emma, “Ever tried any?” She asked, opening her own bottle and taking a sniff. It smelt expensive and strong.

“No.” Emma admitted.

“Let me guess, you weren’t allowed.” Vera asked. Emma looked at Vera, her eyes hardening, and then tipped the bottle up and took a swig as an answer. Vera arched an eyebrow and figured she’d join her, taking a sip of her own. Emma turned the bottle back up the right way and spluttered,

“Oh, that’s awful!” She gasped, coughing in disgust. Vera stopped drinking also. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she knew she’d have to down more to get any effect. “Why do people drink this stuff?”

“Not for the taste.” Vera agreed but drank on anyway.

“I drank my father’s wine…” Emma murmured in disbelief, looking at Vera in shock. Vera grabbed a glass from the kitchen and began pouring the wine out. She looked at Emma and gave her a nod,

“You did.” She confirmed, downing the glass afterwards. Emma watched her, then a smile crept on her face and she laughed. Clearly, she was hitting an adrenaline high. Perhaps this is the first time she’s ever rebelled. Vera reckoned, recognising the shaky certainty she’d once felt herself. She’s only directly defied her parents once or twice and the feeling had been both terrifying and liberating. Emma got her own glass and raised it,

“To disobeying.” She chimed. Vera didn’t know why Emma had to ruin a perfectly good moment with a cheesy toast, but reluctantly raised her own glass, grudgingly saying,

“To disobeying.” It didn’t take long before her urge for sunshine had subsided. The alcohol hit her system and the itch for drugs was replaced by a lightheaded, drunken daze. In a fleeting moment, while she was lying on the cream couch and Emma the pink, the importance of Emma’s earlier words finally struck her. ‘When my dad’s bored he drinks.’ She frowned at the ceiling then turned her head to look at Emma, who was silently studying her glass. Vera didn’t know what to think.

[shigetsunonana]

Bro got tired of serving a 12 yr old . Cant blame him

Sekiro's resting existential malaise face never gets old to me. yeah this guys so so tired and has the hardest job ever he was raised by mean geriatric assassins and he kills 500 people every morning before breakfast (and his breakfast is a handful of loose uncooked rice and a single persimmon)