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best-left-hook-jones · 7 years ago

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It Is Not Yet Evening (11/?)

A/N: First things first, I am absolutely ecstatic to reveal the new cover art for this fic! I’m so grateful to @mrs-emma-swan-jones for taking time to make this wonderful artwork (I honestly can’t stop staring at it!!). Even if you don’t follow this story, everyone needs to send a lot of love her way :) Secondly, because I received this fantastic piece of inspiration, I went a bit overboard with this chapter and you’ll be getting a lot more bang for your buck. Enjoy!

Summary: Historical AU. It is 1917, and with the Russian empire on the verge of collapse, Emma - a former maid for the Imperial family - means to escape the imminent revolution and start a new life in London. Desperately fleeing the Bolsheviks and armed with fake documents and a new identity, she sets out to find the mysterious man with the power to grant her her freedom. But the road to Moscow is a treacherous one, and a chance encounter with a wealthy British businessman may change her life forever.

Words: 54,454

AO3: It Is Not Yet Evening

Tumblr: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Nikolayevsky Station; March 15th, 1917. 12:47pm.

He had wanted to speak to her about what had happened on the platform. It had seemed like she was nearing to kiss him, he was almost certain that she had been, but every time he looked at her now, all he saw was sadness. It was almost as though she could read his mind, see what had been meaning to ask her and pitied him for thinking that her motives were anything but innocent.

In a way, he wished that they had been. Killian was the first to admit that he had been far from celibate since Milah’s death, but all of the women before had been faceless, nameless distractions that had eased the ache. Nothing had made his heart race quite like the near kisses he had almost shared with Emma. It was terrifying.

He liked Emma. His heart certainly didn’t belong to her, but he couldn’t deny that he liked her. After all, what was not to like? She was beautiful, intelligent, funny and had a good heart that he was still trying to uncover. Any man would be lucky to have her, and Killian had no doubt that one day, someone deserving of her love would win her heart. A far better man than Killian Jones, that was for certain.

It was a harsh reality, but it wasn’t any less true. He had been resolute in his plan at the beginning; he was going to help her get to her destination, receive similar help in return, and perhaps flirt a little bit. There was no harm in that, surely. It wasn’t as if he were somehow growing feelings for her, was it?

It made him nearly squirm that the answer was no longer a sure ‘no’.

Killian let out a breath and rested his forehead against the double layer of thick glass. Emma had immediately requested use of the cabin to change her clothes when they had boarded the train, and Killian had of course obliged. He had tried pacing to clear his mind, wearing down the already threadbare carpet, but when that had proved ineffective he had given up. Leaning against the wooden panelled walls, Killian tried to make out the blurred objects rushing past the window, but even with the added sunlight, it was impossible.

When he was summoned back inside the room a few minutes later, Emma was curled up on her bench, nose deep inside a book. She had exchanged her simple black skirt for one that was a deep crimson, and her simple white blouse had been swapped for one that was patterned with small roses of the same red. Killian couldn’t help but gawk; red was certainly her colour.

She glanced up from her page as he sat down across from her.

“Would you like to change now?”

Killian thought about it. He hadn’t changed his clothes since the night before, but in order to dress, Emma would need to leave the room, and Killian didn’t want to disturb her for something so trivial. Not when she looked so comfortable, her feet tucked up under her.

“Perhaps later,” he said with a shrug. Emma immediately returned to her book, thumbing through the pages to her spot. He couldn’t tell what the book was - the words on the cover were clearly written in Russian - and by the look of determined concentration on her face as she scanned the text, now was not the right time to ask.

Not sure what to do, but half-certain that Emma was actively trying to do anything else but converse with him, Killian brought out his own book and tried to read. They sat in silence for the next two hours as the train made its final approach into Moscow. He half expected her to say something when they finally pulled up to the platform, but instead, he found himself packing his bags in further silence.

They were halfway through the station, following the thick crowd through the tall, arched exits, when Killian finally had enough.

“Swan, are you avoiding me?”

She stopped, her eyes widening in surprise. At least he had gotten her attention.

“I am not avoiding you. I have a million things on my mind.”

It was a weak excuse, a reflex garnered from years of practice. For whatever reason, her walls seemed to be back up. He wanted to scream.

“Is that all?” He pressed, his voice as even as he could make it.

Emma looked as though she were about to argue - or worse, deflect again - but something made her pause. She returned his gaze, her lips pursed in contemplation as she mulled something over in her mind. Finally, she looked away, sighing in a way that indicated she was about to share something she had hoped to keep to herself.

“And,” she continued, “perhaps our discussion about the Imperial family earlier set me ill at ease.”

“The family?” He asked, confused.

“I left many loved ones behind yesterday. It makes me nervous, knowing that it may be a long time until I receive word from them.”

Though the words surprised him, they didn’t necessarily ring false to his ears.

“Of course, lass,” he responded, hanging his head. “My apologies for thinking otherwise.”

He had worried that she regretted being with him - agreeing to be his translator. If he was honest, he had also been afraid that their near kisses - twice, now - had been weighing on her mind, and her silence meant that she simply couldn’t decide on how to let him down gently.

How selfish to think that he should occupy her thoughts as often and she occupied his. How arrogant could he be that he should think he was somehow worth her worry. He wanted to curse himself for his stupidity.

“Where are you meeting him?”

Her words drew him from his thoughts, and his scowl turned into a look of confusion.

“Your partner,” she quickly clarified. “You said he would be expecting you here.”

“Oh, yes. Right.”

He scrambled for the little folded note in his breast pocket that Will had given him before he had left. Even through his partner’s terrible handwriting he could make out the swirled letters of the restaurant that he was meant to go to upon arrival.

The White Rabbit.

“Cheeky,” Emma commented, reading through the list of instructions she’d been given.

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Yes, well just wait until you meet him.”

Emma handed him back his note and they set off to find a driver.

It took a few minutes, but soon they were on their way, their luggage packed away in the boot of a jittery little cab that sounded as though it was practically wheezing in the thick snow. After about twenty minutes, the driver chirped out some instructions, glancing into the back mirror at the pair. They had arrived at the pedestrian only street - the Arbat - and would need to walk from here. It mattered little; the weather seemed to be much more pleasant that it had been in days, and after being cooped up in a small cabin for a day, Killian had to admit that the long stroll would do them both some good.

They got out, collected their possessions and paid, before turning down the street that Emma believed the restaurant to be on.

The Arbat, Emma explained, was one of the oldest streets in Moscow. It was far enough from the Kremlin that the nobility tended to leave it alone, and the street had developed almost a rural feel. Since being rebuilt after the battle with the French had left the area in ashes, the street had begun catering mainly to scholars and artists, both of which brought it’s own unique flare. Most of the buildings were all two, three stories high at most, while others looked more modern and reached seven or eight stories high. It was the churches, however, that dominated the view, towering high over the street below, their shadows almost non existent in the grey-white daylight. Electric trams likely frequented the busy street, but with the power reserves drained, they now sat stationary in their tracks.

Emma must have noticed his wonder, for a moment later, she leaned in closer.

“Do not worry,” she teased in his ear. “I will not be letting you out of my sight for a minute.”

He returned her smirk.

“I would despair if you did.”

The restaurant was a small little hole in the wall just off of the main boulevard. He might have missed it if it weren’t for the faded sign hanging outside, written in tall white cyrillic letters and boasting a cartoonish white rabbit rearing on it’s hind legs. It both looked nothing like and exactly like the type of place that Will Scarlet would frequent.

The outside door was unlocked, and they slipped inside easily as the heavy door thudded shut behind them. Immediately the pair were hit with a wave of heat. It was just past four o’clock and the heat from the ovens combined with the candles adorning the walls had turned the room into a furnace. Still, it was a refreshing change from the chill outside.

Killian tapped the little desk bell, and almost immediately, a young woman appeared from a hallway off to the side. She wore a friendly smile, her rosy cheekbones high and pronounced by her long brown hair tied up in a tight knot at the back of her head. She greeted them, her voice up turning into a question that Killian did not understand.

“We are meeting Will Scarlet,” Killian informed her, hoping that the name was enough to direct her. “I believe he is expecting us.”

It was enough. The hostess nodded once, and lead them down the hallway to an arched wooden doorway that led to the dining room. The rooms were cooler in the back, though still warm, likely due to the old stone walls. While the front of house had been apparently renovated, the back retained its rustic charm. Whether the decision was due to esthetics or money, Killian did not know.

Almost as soon as his foot had crossed the threshold, Killian heard Will’s thick cockney accent echo out a cheery greeting.

“Where the devil have you been?”

His partner, who had moments before been seated at a table in the corner of the small dining room, stalked toward him, his thick, perfectly groomed eyebrows pinched together in annoyance. His hair was cropped too short for the cold weather, and Killian was sure that the tips of his ears would be aching with frostbite by the time they returned to London.

“You were supposed to have been here bloody hours ago, you-”

Will stopped short and his eyes widened slightly as he noticed Emma walk through the doorway behind him.

“Ah, my apologies,” he began again, slowly and definitely more quietly. “I did not realise you had lady in tow.”

Will had not taken his eyes off of the blond at his side as he’d spoken, but now he looked at Killian, his eyebrows raised and stare accusatory. There would surely be hell to pay later for not informing him of Emma’s presence.

“We were detained,” Killian stated simply, turning to help Emma remove her overcoat before shucking his own. He took their bags and tucked them under the table.

As soon as Emma’s arms were free, Will stepped forward to take her hand is his. “Will Scarlet,” he introduced himself, bowing slightly to place a light kiss on her knuckles. “Trust Killian Jones to go on a business trip and land himself a pretty lady.”

Killian nearly choked. “It is not like that. She is merely a friend.”

“Ah, well, then. My apologies, miss…?”

“Emma Nolana,” Emma finished for him, giving a slight curtsey. Will’s grin widened as he detected the hints of her accent.

“Privet, Emma Nolana. Ochen Priyatno.”

“Ochen Priyatno. Your Russian is very good,” she praised, releasing his hand.

“Very kind of you, lass. I taught this man all the Russian he knows,” he ribbed, gesturing at Killian.

Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I was not aware that Killian spoke any Russian at all.”

“Exactly! He would not need me if he did, and I am not about to get myself fired. A trick of the trade, my dear. Always know your own worth.”

Emma looked bemused by the quick wit of his business partner, and Killian felt something akin to jealousy curl in his stomach. He had spent the past day and a half building an easy friendship with the blond, slowly gaining her trust and getting to know the real Emma, and here was Scarlet, seconds after meeting her and already charming his way into her good graces. It wasn’t fair.

He stepped up behind one of the carved wooden chairs and pulled the seat out for Emma. She nodded graciously, and he took his seat next to her, while Will moved to reoccupy the chair across from them.

“Well it was lucky that you arrived when you did,” Will pointed out, rolling up his sleeves. “You would not want your food to be served cold on a day like today.”

“What do you mean?”

Will’s eyebrows raised at Killian’s question. “Did Miss Nolana not tell you anything?”

“How could she when you have not stopped talking since we entered,” Killian muttered a bit sourly.

“Alright.” Will waved him off. “The city is under strict gas hours since they ran out of coal. Moscow only has access to fuel between 7 and 8 in the morning, 11 and 2, and 4 and 5pm. I would guess this is the only place in town that even cares to light the ovens. The owner is a friend of a friend - well, friend might be a strong word, actually - but he is granting me this favour anyways.”

Almost as if on cue, the woman who had brought them in reappeared at Will’s side. Will ordered for himself and Killian - knowing what his boss liked to eat was one of the many things the Will received payment for - before turning to Emma.

“Anything you would like, my dear,” Will encouraged, pushing a menu toward the blond. “Though I would caution against the mushrooms. They are not always what you think.”

Emma nodded, glancing down at the worn piece of paper on the table. She quickly read off her order to the woman, who then dashed off toward the kitchen.

“How was St. Petersburg?”

“Petrograd,” Killian corrected automatically. Will waved him off.

“Changing the name of the city to make it sound less German is a cheap parlour trick to disguise the fact that the Tsar has no bloody idea what he is doing in this war. Call the city by its true name.”

Killian hummed noncommittally. He had felt Emma go rigid in the seat beside him at the mention of the family, so he quickly changed the subject.

“Have there been any developments regarding the shipyard?”

Will made a face. “Our friend Hans seems to think he owns half of the ports between here and Denmark. I am not surprised he tried to buy the loading dock out from under us.”

“Does he have the funds?”

“According to the rumours, yes. But,” Will added, noticing the scowl on his partner’s face, “that is where my expertise comes in. I happen to know that the harbourmaster prefers to deal in favours rather than money. Hans may be rich, but he is no Will Scarlet, I can tell you that. I can manage it.”

Killian relaxed. If securing their shipping dock in Petrograd meant relying on Will’s silver tongue, then it was almost a certainty. Will had been his partner for years, and he knew the limits of what Killian was willing to sacrifice for his company. He did not even need to ask to know that whatever trade that Will made to reaffirm their presence in the busy shipping port would be worth it. Another box ticked.

“I have no doubt that you will. I have heard that Hans is more brawn than brains anyways.”

“Well, fortunately for us, I am loaded with both.” Will smiled up at the waitress as she returned with their tea. The woman blushed and scurried away.

“Now,” Will exclaimed, rubbing his hands in anticipation, “I have told you what I have been up to. I think it is time for you to explain how you found such a lovely young lady in the few days that I left you alone.”

Killian had expected the curiosity. He had even rehearsed his response on the train, working on his tells and hoping that Will would not ask more questions than necessary. Of course there was no chance for the last bit, but he could dream.

Just as he was about to open his mouth and begin spinning his story, Emma piped up.

“I am afraid the story is not nearly as interesting as you might think,” Emma started, her smile polite, her posture perfect. Perhaps he had not been the only one who had prepared their skit. “I found your friend at Moskovsky station, wandering around as a lost puppy. I am a language tutor by trade, and so I stepped up and offered my services.”

Will’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You mean to say that you travelled all the way to Moscow to help Killian? That seems awfully generous of you.”

Emma laughed, light and innocent.

“No, no. I was already on my way here. There are some supplies that I am meant to pick up here. My employer has a fondness for rare books, and I was the most suited to go.”

She was good. Her words flowed easily, her story convincing. If Killian hadn’t known the truth, he would have been almost tempted to believe her himself. But it wasn’t him that she needed to convince, it was the sharp minded partner across from them.

Will’s surprise seemed to fade, but his curiosity did not. He turned toward Killian. “Is that right?”

Killian shrugged, picking up his tea to distract himself from the urge to scratch behind his ear.

“As you said, you left me alone without a translator. I made do.” He sipped his tea.

Luckily they were saved from further scrutiny as the waitress appeared with their food. Emma had opted for the same thing as the men; a bowl of hot beetroot soup and bread. They ate in silence, the sound of silverware clinking against porcelain dishes the only sound in the room. The texture was slightly more watery than was probably typical, but none of them complained. It was likely the best food in the city, and as neither of the travellers had thought to eat breakfast, the group had to refrain from devouring their meals.

“I have a room for you,” Will started again after a few minutes. “I was not aware that you would have company, so I only picked the one, though it does have two beds. I was.... meant to have the other one.”

Emma’s brow furrowed in concern. “We could not possibly push you out of your room.”

“Fear not, Swan,” Killian reassured her. “Will may look well and proper, but I assure you he is accustomed to sleeping in rough places. I am certain he will find somewhere to rest his head for the night.”

“‘Well and proper’? Someone is trying to butter me up!”

“Really, though, it is your room and I-” Emma tried, but Will waved off her concern.

“I am quite well acquainted around these areas, Miss Nolana. You needn’t worry about me.”

“Worry about you?” Killian snorted. “I am more worried about the poor lass who will have the misfortune of sharing her bed with you.”

He knew very well whose bed Will would end up crawling into at the end of the night - it was the same one he had snuck off to during every other trip they had made to Moscow - and that the lovely lass wouldn’t mind a bit. Still, it earned him a smile from Emma.

“Speaking of which,” Will added, ignoring the jab. “There is going to be a party at Anastasia’s home tomorrow evening. I already told her that you would go.”

Killian’s stomach immediately flopped.

“Will, I am afraid I cannot. My plans have...changed.” It was a reflex that had his gaze flickering to Emma, but Will’s keen eye noticed immediately.

“Well, by all means, bring Miss Nolana!” Before Killian could say a word to stop him, Will had turned to Emma. “How would you like to come to a party, Miss Nolana?”

“Will!”

“If you will not, I might as well invite the lady,” Will pointed out with a wolfish grin. He directed his attention back toward the lady seated across from him. “Miss Nolana. Would you care to accompany me to a party tomorrow? I am afraid that if Killian will not go-”

“Fine, Will,” Killian stopped. “Yes. I will go.”

The thought of Emma tagging along with Will as a date was slightly more than he could stomach. She would be safe enough - the invitees would surely be people that he had met a dozen times or more - but he couldn’t count on Will to keep her company the entire night. Not when Anastasia was there, at least.

Killian turned to her then, his expression equal parts frustrated, apologetic, and hopeful.

“Would you care to go to Anastasia’s party with me tomorrow?”

Emma hesitated, her green eyes flickering between the pair. This was assuredly not the way in which he would have liked to ask her to go on an outing with him. Not that he had thought about it much - well, not overly so, at least. He had thought about it. He had thought about a lot of things regarding Emma lately, some more innocent than others…

He found himself rather nervous of her answer.

“Yes,” she finally answered with a small smile. “Why not? It sounds like it will be great fun.”

“Grand!” Will exclaimed, clapping his hands together and rubbing them together. “Tomorrow, then. Killian knows the address.”

Will paid little attention to the glare he was receiving from his partner as he dug around in his breast pocket for his watch. Clicking open the face, he nearly started at the hour. “Bloody- is that the time? I need to leave before…” He trailed off as he stood to pull his winter coat over his shoulders. He wrapped the last of his bread in a handkerchief and stuffed it into his pocket. Good food was not to be wasted.

“Killian. Miss Nolana,” he nodded with a wink, as he laid down a wad of cash on the table to cover his check. “I must bid you adieu.”

“It was a pleasure,” Emma responded politely, ever the diplomat. Killian was not as refined.

“Where are you going?” He asked, suspicious.

“Business.”

“Need I remind you that your business is my business?”

“Of course! Even more reason not to delay. I cannot appear to be slacking off in front of my boss, now, can I?”

Killian glared at his partner. “Alright. Just remember to stay out of trouble.”

“Trouble?” Will asked, affronted. “I would never, Jones.”

Killian almost rolled his eyes at the smirk on his partner’s face.

“Speaking of trouble,” Will continued, glancing again at the pocketwatch in his hands. “You might want to find yourselves at the hotel sooner rather than later. The city goes dark at 8 o’clock. Though,” he added with a wink, as he began to walk away. “I have no doubt that you will find other ways to keep yourselves busy.”

Killian didn’t need to look to know that Emma had flushed at the words.

“Piss off, Will,” he couldn’t help but mutter as his partner made his way toward the stairs, waving farewell to the head server as he left.

“Mind your language, ol’ chap!”

As was often the case with Will, the room seemed to turn quiet with his departure. It was one of the most tactical tricks about his business partner; his ability to leave a room and make a person long for more. More energy, more lightheartedness, more excitement. Despite his earlier jibe, he really was an indispensable member of Killian’s team and there were more than a few antics that Killian had let slide because of his talent. If anyone could sell water to a fish, it was Will Scarlet.

“That man must have the ears of a fox,” Emma remarked, her eyes lingering on the doorway.

“I apologize for my partner. He can be a bit much,” Killian sighed, an anxious knot forming in his stomach. “Do you mind very much? About the party, that is. I know it is last minute...”

“Not at all, I am sure it will be fine. It is only that I am afraid I have not brought anything to wear.”

“We can take care of that. I will need to buy some things tomorrow as well.”

“Alright.”

They slowly finished their meal and paid, handing each waiter a generous tip that left the staff beaming. Emma smiled as the owner walked them to the door, the jolly man singing their praise in a way that only a friend of Will Scarlet’s could. It was only after Killian promised that they would be back soon that the man finally granted them a moment to make their escape. Even then, the owner stood on the stoop and watched the pair set off for the hotel, and Killian couldn’t help but wonder what a Muscovite had to do to stock enough food to run a restaurant in a country currently plagued by famine. Perhaps it was best not to know.

They walked arm and arm down the snowy street, their bellies full and warm from the hearty meal. A good thing, too; it was barely half past six and the sun was already beginning to set. Soon, the little warmth that the daylight provided would soon be gone entirely and the city would be dark and cold once more.

Yet, even at dusk, the city seemed full of life. The street was filled with chatter as Muscovites rushed home from their jobs, eager to get home before the horizon extinguished the last of the light. A few children played in the streets, bundled in whatever their parents had found suitable to protect them from the cold. They would no doubt be scolded by their parents when they returned home with soggy mittens, but for now, at least, the fun could continue.

The hotel was only a few blocks away and, for once, Killian knew the route well. It was the same building that Will had rented out every time they had travelled together to Moscow. Still, it had been a while since they had made use of the accommodations; Anastasia had insisted on hosting them for their first night back in Russia the evening before they had set out for Petrograd, and Killian was unused to making the trek through the city without Will.

He felt a flash of pride when they finally rounded the corner and the weathered, grey building came into view. It was nothing fancy - as head of his unit, Killian insisted that business trips be expensed accordingly, even for the higher ranking positions - but the sheets were clean, the doors had locks, and Will swore up and down that the tenants outnumbered the rats.

Just as he was about to ascend the short flight of stairs that led to the entrance, Killian felt a tug on his arm. Emma had stopped, and was glancing warily at the building.

“I am not sure that I should accompany you. Perhaps I ought to get my own room.”

Killian furrowed his brow in confusion. “Nonsense. We have shared a room before, and Will has assured me that there are two beds.”

“It is not that,” Emma insisted, her gaze flickering to the door. “I only worry how it will look for you if you arrive with, well, me on your arm.”

“Fear not, Swan,” he reassured her, slipping his arm out of her grasp to take her hand instead. “I assure you, this establishment has seen far more questionable women passing through it’s doors.”

Emma appeared to pale slightly at his words.

“I was only trying to protect your dignity.”

“My dignity is quite well protected, Swan,” he chuckled, reaching up to place a hand on the doorknob. “You are quite possibly the most unique woman I have ever met, but I do not think that they will suspect you of it. Now, shall we?”

He nodded his head toward the wooden entranceway, and after another moment’s hesitation, Emma shifted her bags in her hand and followed him up the stairs.

The receptionist nearly leapt from her seat as the pair entered. The novel that had been clutched in her hands had been immediately tossed aside, an envelope shoved in between the pages to mark her spot, as she reached for the ledger beside her. She was an older woman, her hair already white as the snow outside, but she was quick, and after a rushed - and rather ingenuous - greeting, she was pushing the leather bound book across the desk toward them. Emma responded politely as the duo removed their hats and gloves, brushing the snow from their clothing where it had gathered in clumps. The ease with which Emma switched languages on a dime never ceased to amaze him.

Killian picked up the pen from the desk and signed his name where Emma indicated that he should. His eyes were fixed on the form in front of him, and as such, he missed the cause of the old woman’s indignant huff. He looked up quickly, catching the moment that Emma shoved both of her hands into her pockets, her cheeks flushed scarlet in embarrassment. The woman was nearly glaring in disapproval, and Emma gave a nervous smile before replying to a question that he hadn’t be privy to.

The woman rolled her eyes, but reached into a drawer nonetheless and retrieved a single key with a number engraved into it. After ruffling through another drawer, she produced a single candle in a small holder, using the oil lamp on the table to light it. She made to hand the candle to Killian, but upon showing that woman that he hadn’t enough hands to carry everything, the woman passed it to Emma. She muttered some instructions, performed some hand motions that Killian was just able to make out as directions, before snatching back the ledger and retreating into a back room behind her.

Killian raised his eyebrow at Emma in question, but she simply shook her head and led him down the hallway that the woman had indicated.

As promised, the room contained two narrow beds that mirrored each other on opposite walls. The room also contained two identical bedside tables, a large standing mirror, a dresser, and a coat rack. A stone fireplace sat in one corner of the room, though the city had run out of firewood long ago and the pit now housed only soot and ashes. There was an old room partition cramped in one corner, but other than that, the room provided little privacy. Not that it mattered; the night was still very young, but the pair were exhausted and were ready to sleep in proper beds. Besides, without any real light, there was not much that they could do.

The pair split off to change into their sleepwear, with Killian taking the first shift so that Emma was not forced to be alone in the hallway in only her sleeping garments. When Killian had finished, he lay his wooden hand on the dresser and snatched up his bottle of rum. Set, Killian moved into the hallway to stand guard as Emma took her chance to change. He leaned against the opposite wall, bottle in hand, as the lock clicked shut behind him.

All at once, the light from the room that had been illuminating the hallway vanished, leaving only a faint glow from underneath the door. Killian felt a pang of guilt at not realising that Emma had been left in the dark while he had been changing. He pulled out a match from his pocket - he had learned long ago to keep a matchbox on his person for just these reasons - and struck it against the wall. The tip immediately sparked into flame, casting a faint glow around him.

The candle holders anchored to the walls were all empty, the cost of burning more candles than needed either too high or the stinginess of the landlord too great. Killian didn’t know which, but had a feeling that it might have been both. The fact that the hotel was able to operate at all given the rampant poverty was impressive as it was. Thinking about it now, he had yet to see another soul in the building. The hallwalls all seemed deserted, the lack of sound a jarring change from the hours spent on the rattling train. The matchstick burnt out then, and Killian didn’t bother lighting another one.

Killian waited, sipping his rum, until the sound of the lock on his room door being clicked open shattered the silence. He waited for Emma’s head to pop out and invite him in, but when that did not happen, he pushed off from the wall and moved closer. Tucking the bottle under his left arm he placed his right hand on the doorknob, and listened. Nothing. A slight twist and a soft push later and the door swung open easily.

Emma was already in bed, the sheets pulled up high on her torso so that only her blond head was visible. She was turned toward him, her eyes barely visible in the low candle light. She seemed to be watching him, her hands clutched around the blankets in order to conceal her body. The sudden defensiveness had Killian frowning in confusion. It was not the first time that they had slept in the same space, and, indeed, this space was much more accommodating than the cabin. Why would she suddenly be embarrassed? Unless...

Ah.

Emma had likely not prepared her luggage thinking that she would be sharing her space with a man.

He looked away immediately, noticing that Emma had moved the candle to his bedstand and assuredly not imagining the clothing that the beautiful blond had hidden underneath the covers.

“How are you finding the accommodations?” He asked, scratching behind his ear. It was a stupid question, but it was far better than admitting where his true thoughts had gone.

“Yes, thank you. I must remember to thank your partner again tomorrow for his generosity.”

Killian hummed noncommittally, walking over to his own bed and sitting down. If he was honest, he didn’t believe his partner required any more praise than was necessary. He remembered the comment Will had made as he was leaving and nearly blushed all over again. He wondered if it was on Emma’s mind as well.

“You need not worry about Will,” he tried lamely. “He is a fine chap, even if he is a little overwhelming at times.”

Emma nodded, though it wasn’t clear whether she really agreed with the statement.

When she said no more, Killian tucked himself into the thin sheets and snuffed out the candle. The room was immediately plunged into total darkness. Even on the train, the low burning lamp light had broken the blackness enough to see some. The feeling of his eyes trying and failing to adjust was disorienting, and he found himself missing the sight of the woman across from him. He doubted she would run away and disappear into the night, but the discomfort was still there.

It was only when he heard her faint voice pipe up across the room that he relaxed some.

“Who is Anastasia?”

Killian supposed he should have realised that Emma would be curious as to the identity of the lady at the other end of the generous invitation she’d received. Someone in Emma’s sensitive position would have to be.

“In a better world, I think she would be Will’s fiance.”

He listened to the floorboards creak as Emma settled into the bed. He thought she might be facing him now, but he couldn’t be certain.

“How do you mean?”

“They have been in love since they were practically children. Will’s father travelled for work, and Will was brought to Moscow as a youth to study.”

“Hence the Russian.”

“Precisely,” he nodded, forgetting that she could not see him in the dark. “They met, and have been smitten with each other ever since.”

“Why have they never wed?”

“Anastasia’s parents do not approve of foreigners. They barely allowed the friendship, let alone a courtship. Will insists that they will one day run away with each other, her family be damned, but…”

“But?”

“I am not certain she will ever be ready to leave her family like that,” Killian admitted. “Not even for Will.”

There was a hum of understanding. Of course Emma would understand that, Killian thought. If anyone recognized the importance of title and status, it would be the woman who had grown up smack dab in the middle of it all. For a brief moment, Killian wondered if a man of status had ever caught Emma’s eye. A duke, or perhaps even a visiting prince. He wouldn’t blame her; Emma might have been closer to royalty than most people would ever dream of being, but she was still a red-blooded woman, capable of wants and urges similar to his own.

“Have you been friends long?” Emma asked, intruding his thoughts.

“A few years now, yes.” Killian considered his words for a moment, before adding, “I first met him in jail.”

He thought he heard a gasp.

“You were in prison?”

Killian grinned at the surprise in her voice. It was childish, but he enjoyed the idea that Emma was not the only one with a mysterious past.

“I spent a night in a cell for drunken disorderly. I believe I was too intoxicated to recall my own name, and the police sergeant had decided to wait until morning to determine who I was. Will was brought in a few hours later, I believe. He had been arrested for breaking and entering - possibly theft as well. I never did find out.”

“You two make quite a team.”

“We did,” Killian chuckled. “Will was somehow able to convince the officer that the house belonged to a friend of his and that he had heard a noise and had rushed in to investigate. He was able to recount every last detail of the inside and told such an elaborate story about his friendship with the owner, that the officer finally believed him and let him go. But just as he was about to leave, he turned and said to the officer, ‘well, if you are going to let me go, you might as well release my friend here. He was only trying to watch my back.’”

“So he had not been robbing the house?”

“On the contrary, he had robbed that house before.”

Emma let out an unladylike snort at that. It was rather charming, Killian thought.

“Why did Will have you released as well?”

Killian shrugged. “I believe simply to show that he could. He is a bit of an arrogant sod.”

Instead of an answer, Killian heard the sound of sheets being rustled and a body rearranging itself on the thin mattress. It wasn’t the most comfortable bed that he had ever slept on, to be sure, but it was still miles better than the leather benched they had been sleeping on. Still, Emma seemed to be struggling. A moment later and he thought he could hear heavy breathing - not the explicit kind. Was she was attempting to warm her fingers with her breath?

“This is a far cry from the soft palace bedding, I would guess, is it not?” He teased lightly.

“Yes.” He had definitely heard her teeth chatter that time. “Dear lord, it is freezing,” she finally murmured.

The temperature in room had certainly begun to drop, the insulation poor in the old building. He had started to feel a slight chill as well, but his experiences growing up in poverty had made him a veteran of the cold.

“Come over, Swan,” he called out into the dark.

“Over?”

“I can make space on my bed for you.”

“I cannot sleep in your bed!”

“Well, you cannot very well freeze to death five paces away from me.”

“I hardly think I will freeze to death,” Emma snorted, but even then there was a slight shake in her voice that gave her away.

There was a long pause. “Very well then.”

Killian heard the distinct rustling of sheets being pulled away followed by the soft groan of old floorboards bearing weight. There was a tentative pause as Emma no doubt considered how to make the short journey in the pitch darkness, but a moment later there was the patter of bare feet on wood. The steps were halting, and Killian could imagine Emma’s arms reached out in front of her, blindly looking for the edge.

“Right here, love.”

Just then, her fingers brushed his in the blackness and Emma let him guide her onto the narrow bed.

“You just mind that you keep your hands to yourself,” he heard her mutter, as she slipped her legs under the sheets next to him.

“Ah I am afraid I have left one of my hands on the shelf by the door. Is there another attachment you would prefer?”

“Very funny.”

He scooted over to the far edge of the bed to make room for her, but even then, there was little room to spare. He felt the tips of her hair brush against his cheek as she twisted and turned in an attempt to make herself comfortable in the narrow space beside him. Killian felt Emma’s long legs cozy up next to his under the sheet, though the comforter appeared to be trapped in a mess around her hips, but it was the sensation of small ice cubes being pressed to the exposed skin on his ankle that had him yelping.

“Bloody hell, Swan! Your toes are freezing!”

“I did warn you!”

“Do you not have stockings?”

“Yes, but that would require getting redressed in the dark.”

Fair point. Emma was more likely to break a toe searching for the garments, and with his own socks strewn somewhere on the floor by his bag, there wasn’t much he could do.

“Here.”

He wrapped his toes around her frigid ones, letting her steal some of his heat. She scooted closer at the feeling, her arms curled up at her chest as they lay on their sides, almost nose to nose. If he hadn’t heard the sheets move, he would have been surprised when her hand reached across to rest at the spot where his collarbone met pillow. As it was he had to force himself not to jump; her slender digits felt like icicles against his warmth.

Her entire body relaxed into the sheets after a moment. If the growing tension over the events of the last two days had seemed palpable before, it’s release now was equally so. He could feel the tension leaving her form in degrees, the stiffness that she always seemed to carry in her limbs abating. She hadn’t even bothered to pull the sheets over herself, the heat generated by the two bodies enough now. Perhaps she was still considering her escape back to her own bed.

Outside, the wind was howling fiercely. The storm had picked up again, and with every heavy gust that whipped around the corner of the building came an eerie moan that made it seem as though it would be the structure’s last. It was a sound he had become well acquainted with over the years, but he couldn’t imagine it had ever been the same for Emma.

Even with the small tidbits he had gathered already, he had gleaned that she had lived a life he could only have dreamed about as a child, having grown up in near poverty himself. His brother had done his best to ensure that they always had a roof over their head, but sometimes that had been all it was, a roof. It had never been as bad as it could have been, and Killian had always been grateful for it, but there were still days as a young lad that he had gone into the city with his brother and oogled at the splendor of Buckingham Palace. That was a real roof, and he was certain that no occupant had ever had to worry about leaks during heavy rainfall or unwelcome creatures making their way in through the cracks. It seemed silly now, but there was still something to be said for a good home, with thick walls and a sturdy roof.

It was almost incredible that the mild mannered woman lying next to him would have seen so much and had been forced to give it all up. But Emma was strong. He had learned at least that much, and if anyone was going to survive the turmoil of the inevitable revolution only to run straight to a continent being pulled apart by war, it was her. She would do it, and do it well. Emma was incredible like that.

Her hand moved to his chest, brushing against the thin silver chain that hung there.

“What is that?” She murmured, her fingers trailing the strand down the hollow of his neck. His fingers met hers at the point where the simple silver ring rested, nestled in soft coils of dark chest hair.

“It was my mother’s wedding ring,” he whispered.

“You wear it all the time?”

“Yes. Ever since she passed away.”

Her nimble fingers continued to explore the thin band, feeling every ridge set in it. It was by no means the most glamourous of rings - his parents hadn’t been wealthy and the bit of money that his father did earn was always immediately wasted on booze. But it had still belonged to her, and so it was perfect.

“It is beautiful.”

His heart swelled with pride and affection. He wondered if she could feel it racing in his chest every time her fingers brushed against him. Surely she must.

Killian raised his hand in the dark, moving it to hover just above where he imagined her left shoulder would be. Perhaps it was the fact that it had been so long since he had lain with - well, next to - a woman, or perhaps it was the bit of rum that he had sipped outside the bedroom door, but a moment later, the tips of his fingers were brushing the strands of hair from her face.

It was the barest of touches, but Emma’s breathing seemed to catch slightly. His offer to let her share his bed had been genuine and innocent, but he hadn’t foreseen what it would be like to have her in such close proximity, to have the scent of her soap filling his lungs, to have her hands against his chest. All of the emotion that he had felt on the platform that morning seemed to rush back with a vengeance. He wanted to lean forward the extra few inches, close the already diminishing gap between them. If the way her cheeks began to heat against his touch was any indication, Emma was having similar thoughts.

He leaned in, and for a brief moment, he felt the slight brush of soft lips against his. It was immediately intoxicating - a shot of morphine to the veins - and as he tilted his head forward again and felt his nose bump hers, he only cursed himself that he couldn’t see to properly kiss the living daylights out of her. He let his hand gently brush down her side to where the blankets were bunched at her hips. He wasn’t sure what he was doing - his mind felt like cotton, his heart beating too quickly. A rush of heat went straight to his loins and he cursed himself for being so responsive.

All of a sudden he felt her tense beneath his fingers and his hand came up in an instant. It was unnerving not to be able to see her expression in the dark, and it didn’t help that Emma wasn’t exactly forthcoming with her feelings on a good day.

“What is the matter, Swan?” He whispered, his eyes wildly searching the dark for hers. He barely cared that his voice sounded half wrecked already. God, it really had been too long.

“Nothing.”

A lie. His heart, still beating frantically, began to sink.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He knew the bluntness of his question would put her off, would possibly make her retreat further behind her walls, but he needed to know. Despite his earlier thoughts, something still nagged at him about her behaviour. Perhaps she hadn’t been lying before, but it hadn’t been the full truth either. It was time to address the elephant in the room.

“The train earlier, and when we arrived outside the hotel. Just now. You keep pulling away from me, and for the life of me, I cannot understand why. What have I done?”

“Nothing. It is as I said, I simply have a lot on my mind.”

“Emma,” he spoke softly, almost pleading. “I know. And I do not expect you to tell me all of your secrets. But please, I just want to help.”

“The landlord believes me to be a prostitute.”

Her equally quiet tone was almost flippant, as though she were trying to brush off her own concerns, but Killian saw through it immediately. The words brought him back to what she had said before, about protecting his dignity, and her hesitation about sharing quarters with him again. It hadn’t been her status as a person of interest that had had her digging her heels into the sidewalk. It was a very different sort of status that had caused her unease.

Suddenly, the entire exchange with the receptionist made sense. The woman - the landlord, apparently - had noticed the lack of a ring on her finger and had said something.

How could he have missed that?

Sure, most of their rules of strict propriety had been thrown out the window when they had both practically become fugitives of the law, but that did not mean that the rules of society ceased to exist. And said rules were particularly stringent on the terms with which a man and a woman could associate with one another. Just because he had willingly abandoned convention did not mean that Emma had.

“Does that bother you?” He asked, realisation dawning on him. “I apologize if it made you uncomfortable.”

“You do not need to apologize. You were right, before. It was quick thinking.”

“If it is all the same, I would still like to apologize. I can see that the insinuation bothers you, even if it was only a ruse.”

“Thank you. It is only that....” She trailed off, and Killian wished more than ever that he could see the emotions in her eyes as she spoke, that he could better decipher what her words meant. “I do not want you to see me like that. As that.”

“I think I understand. And I do not see you as that. I never have. Whatever this is, whatever we are together, it is as much up to you as much as it is me. I will never ask for more than you are willing to give. You have my word, Emma.”

“Thank you, Killian,” she whispered, her tone serious.

He could tell that Emma wasn’t convinced and he could practically hear her mind swirling with thoughts that he wasn’t privy to. If she would only tell him, perhaps he could help.

His hand was still hovering over her hips, and he fumbled in the dark for a moment until he managed to find the end of the heavy duvet and tug it up over her body. Emma immediately tucked her chin under the warm cover, his hand grazing her soft jaw at the movement as he pulled his arm back to his side.

“What if the landlord walks in and catches us like this?” She sounded half asleep, her words thick and heavy in her mouth.

“I expect I would have to scold her for disturbing my slumber with my wife.”

Killian’s mind began to fill with worry as the seconds wore on and Emma gave no response to his rather forward suggestion of feigned matrimony. It was only when he heard a faint sigh that he realised that she had fallen asleep. She had heard him, no doubt, but whether or not she would recall the conversation tomorrow, he had no idea. He hoped so. He had no intention of taking it back.

Indeed, the words had spilled out without prompting, much as they had on the train to the officer. It was as though an instinct kicked in every time Emma came under threat, and he was immediately compelled to do something to help. It was a raw and powerful urge unlike anything he had ever experienced before. And then other times, a very different instinct overcame him, and he found himself fighting the urge to kiss her.

But as seemed to be the case every night since meeting Emma, with the darkness came a new wave of doubt, unsurety, and guilt. It was almost ridiculous that a lovely day spent with Emma should end that way. It reminded him of the more turbulent days of his youth, when the excitement of the liquor he used to sneak from the shipyard would wear off and the shame would begin to set in. Except his shame was not because of Emma - who could ever find reason to be ashamed of her? No, the shame he felt was purely for himself.

For as much as the small voice in his head urged him toward Emma, urged him to take a chance, a stronger voice chastised him. Had he not pledged himself to Milah? No, they hadn’t exchanged vows, but that was a simple formality. They had agreed to love and cherish each other, and only each other.

Until ‘death’ do us part, a small voice corrected.

No, no no. It was more than that. It had to be. His time with Milah had been passionate and perfect and everlasting. He had nothing left to give but his loyalty. He couldn’t take that away. Not now.

It is not disloyal to be happy.

But that seemed almost a ridiculous thought; Killian Jones, living a life free of pain and guilt. He had been on his own for so long now, that the idea that he could share a bit of himself with another person was almost foreign to him. It would never be the same as it was before, though. He needed to remember that. He could never love someone else the way he had his Milah, of that he was sure. But being fond of someone else was not a damning thing, was it? He mightn’t ever be happy again, but perhaps he could be content in the company of another.

Especially if that someone was Emma.

Killian closed his eyes. The exhaustion that had been growing ever since their encounter had begun to tug at the back of his mind as he realised how little sleep he had gotten since Petrograd. He had diligently watched over her as she slept the night before, just as he had promised, but now he could feel the heaviness of his eyelids. There was no reason to fight it anymore; he was exactly where he needed to be. Whatever feelings he had for Emma could wait- and for good or for poor, they were there. That said, if there was one thing that he was certain of, it was this; if given the chance to kiss Emma again, he would take it.

And with that, he let himself be pulled under the waves. The room faded from existence around him until all that remained was him and the sleeping blond, their limbs intertwined under the thick blanket.

#Captain Swan #cs ff #cs #cs fanfic #ouat ff #cs au #cs art #cs historical au #It Is Not Yet Evening #nextfewwords

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