#the worst liar in Storybrooke

[screwhope]

also : emma did not always have the 'i always know when people are lying to me super power' thing. she learned that , because she trusted everyone prior to jail -- lily &* neal specifically, but also whats her face. the snow queen lady with the dumb name. hold on. INGRID. yeah. googled it. she developed that sense &* kind of ... OVER learned it. she trusts very few now. well. no.

the only times it really comes up are when she's talking specifically about like ... serious lies. she misses little lies all the time (at least in s1). but regina ? ofc she clocks her. regina is the worst of lily &* neal &* literally everyone.

( side note , regina only getting away with being awful in storybrooke is bc everyone else being stuck in a perpetual loop of the same day/week never aging EXCEPT FOR HENRY ? LIKE. did he just ... think all the other kids were stupid &* getting held back for the last 5 years of school ? like 'yeah haha he's 10 he just didn't really notice ; he has no friends' sure but how did he miss that miss blanchard is making bird houses every single day ( SHES NOT A BIRD HOUSE TEACHER) or like archie doesnt seem to know what hes talking about in therapy like 'haha yeah hes so detached and sheltered'. BE FUCKIN FOR REAL WITH ME RN. ten year olds are not fuckin idiots asndfjka like i know he didn't really encounter people like ashley (cinderella) WHO ON HER OWN IS A GODDAMN NIGHTMIRE -- 28 YEARS LIKE ABOUT TO BURST PREGNANT? fuck you that's horrific. -- so like his examples weren't quite as weird as they could have been. but the school thing gets me. like 'where were those kids from last year ?' what grade does mary margaret teach ? elementary tends to keep the same teacher for everything. we know she's his teacher. does he notice the repetition in school work? i just have so many questions that the writers have only give vague hand gestures and 'idk foggy brain woo' answers. )

ANYWAY. regina radiates evil. so does rumple. i'm specifically thinking of s1 bc that's what i'm rewatching rn, but like -- she knows david &* mary margaret aren't lying to her bc ?? they're fucking stupid golden retrievers &* SHE KNOWS ITS REGINA. she has no proof but the bitch is evil. she can just. feel it in her bones.

ALL THIS TO SAY , emma probably does not have this ooh mysterious lie detector power. she's just used to fucking liars. she's a god damn bail bonds woman. she chases liars &* cheats for a living.

[konako]

DO YOU HAVE ART IDEAS FOR SIDCU? I’m dying to draw more!! #because ya know i’m in the process of drawing this really sad red snow comic#and i could use some light times in between

I don’t understand. What do you mean sad Red Snow? Who would hurt their precious relationship that is healthy beyond any shadow of a doubt?

David says it’s time to take the kids on a fishing trip. So he packs Emma, Henry and Neal. But it’s a dad thing, so Snow has a long week-end off. She calls Ruby. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Friday night? Yeah, um, Granny has me working… we’re re-doing some of the rooms in the b&b, gonna… paint… walls…” “Oh, okay, maybe something on Saturday?” “Maybe.” She calls Regina next. “Friday? At night? I have a ton of paper work to do, some revisions on the budget. You know that pothole on Main Street… well, I have to wait on some numbers and will probably work late and get too tired afterwards.” “Okay, that sounds important.”

Ruby and Regina had date plans, but now they don’t dare to go outside, because Snow can’t see them! They decide to stay in at Regina’s. It’s not like it matters what they do, how about starting with the naked business right away, it’s been like two weeks (if you don’t count that one quick kiss in front of Gold’s pawn shop, right when Snow walked out and they pretended they had just bumped into each other and Regina cussing at Ruby for not looking where she’s going).

Well, so Regina and Ruby have fun. They know Henry won’t be home, there is nobody there who could bother them. When Ruby comes in there is a very long greeting. Mostly it’s Regina getting pushed against the wall and held in place. When Ruby gets too feisty she teleports to the bedroom and… yeah, they have fun there. Doesn’t matter that the food is getting cold.

Ruby runs downstairs to pick that up after some… they need more energy, okay?! Running naked through Regina’s house is kinda fun though. She tells Regina who is like “you’re a kinky woman”. And they get childish, because ten minutes later they both run to the kitchen to get something to drink and it becomes a round of catch, even though it’s unclear who could even lose.

Now, Ruby keeps the lights off of course. Regina cries foul to that. But she can manage with a little spell for a tiny light ball instead of a flashlight.

So. Snow. She couldn’t find anybody for a Friday night date. Why is everybody busy with husbands or work? Ugh. She goes for a walk. And then she passes Regina’s house. And that’s odd. There is a light on in the bedroom. And somebody is clearly walking around in there. There! Light moving! She moves closer and definitely hears furniture getting moved. (She can’t know that Ruby tried to jump over the dining table to get to Regina and took down the chairs instead. Regina is appalled. Ruby grabs the table cloth she uses as a toga now.)

A ROBBERY!! Somebody broke into Regina’s house and is robbing the place! Oh no, but David and Emma aren’t even here. The sheriffs are gone! What is Snow supposed to do?? She gets her phone out. In her head she can hear David’s voice “Do not engage, you should call for help.” Snow nods to herself. “Got it, I’m here to help.” She picks up a garden gnome as a weapon (it’s a hideous gnome, Regina hates it, it’s why Emma gifted it to her) and then tries to find her way in.

By now Ruby is pinning Regina to the ground (there’s a theme tonight), thigh between her legs, growling. “Madam Mayor, your time is-” A pause. She looks up. There was the sound of a door. She sniffs (very Wolverine of her). Eyes widen in horror. “Snow is here!” And right this moment Snow has found the silhouette of the presumable robber, flings herself at it. Regina has time to poof away.

Now Snow straddles Ruby, gnome over her head about to strike. “Snow!” *blink blink* “Ruby???” Regina - now wearing her clothes, but her face still flush and anybody who would pay a minimum attention would notice the swollen lips, the horny radiance, the disheveled hair - comes in, flips on the light switch. “What is going on here?”

Snow looks between the two, slowly putting down the gnome. “I was about to ask the same.” - “This is my house.” “You said you’d be working late.” - “It was faster than I expected.” Snow looks back to Ruby. “What are you doing here? And why are you practically naked? What about the renovation?” - “My clothes… are dirty… spilled paint all over myself.” “But why are you here?” - “Regina came by… because…..” “The street in front of the b&b is part of the budget issue. So.. I went there.” “Right, she came in and saw me… painting… and had some work to do here… and… asked… for help…” “So you went home with Regina, painted some wall here and had an accident with the paint?” Both: “Exactly!”

Regina looks around. Well, the upstairs hallway was something she wanted to re.do for a while. One flick of the wrist and now there’s a wall covered in wet paint.

“I think the dryer must be almost done, Miss Lucas. Thanks for your patience.”

“No problem. I’m just sorry I was so clumsy. And again. Here in the dining room. I should’ve switched on the light. Get too comfortable walking in the dark.”

Snow blinks. Looking from one to the other again. She stands up, lending Ruby a hand. “I thought somebody was robbing your house!”

“And thank you for trying to catch the thieves.”

Ruby and Snow leave together fifteen minutes later. “It was nice of you to do that for her. I just don’t understand why she didn’t just magically renovate her place.”

“I think she’s trying this thing where she relies less on magic. And also asking for help more.”

“Makes sense.” Snow interlinks her arm with Ruby’s. “Your a good friend, Red. Glad you two are getting along a bit more.”

“Yeah, Regina’s alright…”

“I’m thinking about girls night tomorrow, you two have to come.”

Ruby smiles, but screams in her head ‘coming was the plan for tonight………’

[martianbugsbunny]

OUAT Thoughts Pt.42--Episodes 20-21

I have watched through S4E21; spoilers DNI. Also, spoiler warning for those further behind than I am.

—Zelena weaponizing her pregnancy is infuriating to me. But she knows what she’s doing. She’s basically given herself plot armor, because what hero would kill a villain at the cost of her unborn child?

—I get that the Apprentice felt like he had to make it up to Lilith somehow, but maybe telling a person who is literally full of darkness who to seek revenge on isn’t the best idea?

—Alright, so the Sorcerer exists. One small step for me. But I bet he’s never actually gonna show his beardy face.

—Emma and Regina going on a roadtrip in Emma’s semi-ugly little bug is awesome.

—I love how Rumple has just stopped pretending to be plotting in secret. He’s chilling, with the Author, in Granny’s in plain sight.

—Also, I love it when somebody is sitting in a booth at Granny’s and somebody else squishes them into the wall to sit down in the same booth. Hilarious.

—I can only assume Robin thought having another baby would fix what was off between him and Marian, because he obviously chose obligation over love this time and if he wasn’t shooting for a baby what would the point be?

—That bit where Belle got her heart back kills me. Rumple gave it to her (which, duh, is symbolic of him returning her metaphorical/figurative heart to her) (or maybe not really, cause I’m not sure I believe he’s just gonna move out of the way like that), but he also told Will Scarlett to take care of her heart. That’s quality writing. Though, I really do want him to have actually stepped aside, because otherwise a perfectly lovely moment has no meaning.

—Bringing Zelena back to Storybrooke is one of the worst ideas Regina has ever had.

—And bringing Lilith back wasn’t much smarter on Emma’s part. This girl is full of darkness, is a chronic liar, and makes very bad choices—and oh yeah, she has a vendetta against Emma’s parents! She wants to destroy all of the good things in Emma’s life! That can’t possibly end badly!

—Ugh, Cora. She’s already dead, can’t she just be gone? I 10/10 hate her. Very bad mother, very bad person.

—Maleficent’s hair is pretty. And although I like her makeup better when she’s not wearing that red lipstick, I do like that her lipstick and her nail polish match.

—Cruella got buried in a plain wooden box! Just what a dog-killer deserves. (And, yes, I have hated her more since her origin episode, because they hadn’t really said if she was a dog-killer in this show before then.) She can rot.

—I adore how salty Regina is now. She’s got a pretty dry sense of humor, but it works, and it plays pretty well off of Emma.

—I have a love-hate relationship with how the Author doesn’t care about the actual stories, he just cares about whether or not he gets to write. And the way he sees people as their story elements I just flat-out love.

—The new book is stunning. But make no mistake, I don’t want every villain to win. Just Rumple, Regina, and Maleficent. And I also don’t want it at the heroes’ expense.

—I’m touched by how proud Maleficent is of her dragon daughter. But their stories are both incredibly sad. Possibly some of the most tragic material in the entire show.

—I don’t really want Emma to be a badguy, and it looks like it won’t happen—but it would be so cool if Emma was the dark magic lady and it was Regina who had to save her.

—Regina taking away her own ability to have kids to keep her mom from having power over her is terribly depressing. (I don’t believe for half a second that Cora was actually trying to do Regina a favor.) She didn’t know she wanted to be a mom yet. And it makes what Zelena did even worse. But Regina does have Henry, and probably also Roland now that she and Robin are back together, so she got to be a mother anyway.

—Seeing Emma reconcile with her parents did my heart some good. It’s kinda weird how she was more angry with Snow than she was with David—but come to think of it, David has consistently had a bit of a darker streak than Snow, so maybe it wasn’t quite as huge of a shock.

—Longer hair is incredibly fetching on Regina.

—Very cool that Rumple is not dead. I wouldn’t care about the Dark One—actually, I would hate his guts—if Rumple wasn’t part of him anymore. Although now I live in fear that it’s still gonna happen.

—Taking blood from Lilith was genius. Regina has a very good brain.

[ohmightydevviepuu]

writer’s month prompts

prompt twenty-one:  family (this bit of captain cobra fluff was suggested by @katie-dub​ -- who apparently shares my obsession)

full collection on AO3

It’s been years and Henry still has a terrible poker face; just, he’s really bad at lying, which is pretty dumb considering who his family is, he must get that from Grandpa, because out of all of them Prince Charming is hands down the worst liar in the group. So of course Killian immediately suspects something.

Like, jeez, it’s just an envelope, it’s not a Dark Curse. The Black Fairy, or--crap, his grandfather--would never be so boring. He can imagine the dismissive handwave from Regina, too, all how pedestrian, like she’s never seen something so ridiculous in her life. Seriously.

It’s an envelope that Henry spent way too long looking at over at Doc’s--not the envelope, really, but what’s inside of it, and the way he sweated over every word even though he was literally writing it with a magical pen.

His handwriting is awful and Killian likes to tease him about it and Henry always laughs and says, “Whatever, old man, some of us didn’t have actual centuries to practice our copperplate and make it perfect.”

Belle always laughs, too, when he says that. The way that Belle laughs at Killian makes Henry laugh, too, and it fills up the library shelves while they’re re-stacking or sitting in the back room drinking her favorite tea or just reading, Henry begging Belle to pull in subscriptions to his favorite comics while Killian--badly--attempts to catch up on a couple of centuries of pop culture.

He still hasn’t seen Star Wars, but that is mostly because whenever Emma says “Hey, you wanna go home and see what’s on Netflix?” that’s Henry’s cue to stay at Regina’s, instead. He’s got enough emotional scars already without having to listen to that.

And sometimes it’s really obvious that Killian’s only known a few kids in his entire life, like when he winks and says, “Come now, lad, enjoyment of sexual activities can be an important part of your life” and Henry tries not to vomit or roll his eyes--but then again, there’s Violet, isn’t there? And Henry knows who he’ll be going to with any Questions he has on that front when he’s ready. If he’s ready.

But his mom is happy, like--so, so, happy--happy in ways that Henry didn’t know a person could be happy. And it’s because of Henry, true, and also because of his grandparents and even Regina but it’s mostly because of Killian.

Henry’s happy, too, happy in ways he didn’t know he could be when he was ten years old and knocking on a stranger’s door in Boston after stealing a credit card and getting on a bus with a storybook that turned out to be real.

Hence the envelope. And the card.

They’re not big on holidays in Storybrooke except for that one freak year during the curse when they’d all remembered Valentine’s Day, all the other days subsumed by apocalypses and impending doom, which is probably why Doc has so many cards in stock. Most of them are out of date and really weird, but it’s June and time hasn’t stopped--yet--this year, or at least it hasn’t since the last curse, and the Black Fairy is behind them and his mom got married.

Henry hadn’t even known that was a thing she’d wanted to do, but leave it to the three-hundred-year-old self-proclaimed ‘man of honor’ to get all traditional about things, and now--well. Henry’s got a big family these days but he doesn’t have a dad and he misses his father but really it’s more like he misses the idea of him because he’d barely known Neal at all and then he was gone and his mom was really kind of a wreck about it and Killian had been the one to explain it to him, about his complicated history with Neal and Emma’s complicated history with Neal.

Killian had explained a lot of things. Astronomy and sword fighting and how to cheat at dice and how to win at cards and how to fight dirty when you had to but how to always avoid fighting dirty by having a plan for every situation. How to sail and tie knots and built fires and how to cook, because Killian refused to let his mother do anything besides occasionally scramble eggs.

“The trick with food is to make it edible, love,” he said whenever Emma complained, but Henry always put his foot down when it came to the subject of boiled mackerel.

There’s lox and bagels for breakfast on the morning of the third Sunday in June; or at least, Henry had sweet-talked Emma into poofing some up from New York because Maine had a lot of things but lox and bagels only counted when they were from New York.

But before they eat, Henry hands the envelope to Killian.

Killian holds it and stares and, finally, after deeming the pieces of paper non-threatening, slits the edges with his hook. There’s a swift intake of breath and the card is back on the table and Henry’s pulled into a hug that almost rivals one of Grandpa’s.

The card is mostly blank except for Henry’s sub-par (but still magical) handwriting. 

Thank you, Dad.

“You’re welcome, my boy,” Killian whispers.

--

full list of prompts

--

@profdanglaisstuff​ @thisonesatellite​ @kmomof4​ @shireness-says​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @carpedzem​ @karl0ta​ @captain-emmajones​ @lfh1226-linda​ @mariakov81​ @withaheartfulloflove​

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Breaking the Curse

Chapter 52: Identity Thief

He managed to walk calmly back to his car, to get inside of it without slamming the door shut, and drive off without making a scene. But that was only because he didn't want to make a scene. He didn't want Booth, whoever the fuck he might be, to see how he'd affected him, to know that he'd gotten under his skin. Which was exactly why, the moment he was away from the cabin, his discipline broke.

His body was shaking, and his chest was tight. Energy tingled in his fingers and toes far worse than it ever had when he had magic! He needed to hit something! So he did. He hit at his steering wheel as he drove, smacked it over and over, but it still wasn't enough. His anger bubbled over, but there was nowhere for it to go. He wanted to rage; he wanted to break things; he wanted to crash his car on the side of the road! Not to hurt himself, but rather to watch the metal twist and whine into useless junk just because he felt like that was what his soul was becoming!

But he couldn't do anything. He was aware of that. At his home, he could break whatever the fuck he wanted. But here, out in the open…people would talk. The entire town would notice if he did something so flamboyantly stupid and how the hell would he ever explain it all?!

He needed Belle.

With that realization, hers was the face that he brought to mind as he tried to settle himself because she had always had that kind of effect on him. She had been like a balm for his soul when she was around. Things were at peace; life was comfortable even when it wasn't perfect or even happy. She kept him stable, and he knew that this meltdown wouldn't have happened if he had her with him now. If he could have her with him now, she would have kept him calm and helped him think through his next steps. If he'd had her, this little trick that Booth had played would never have gotten off the ground.

But she was gone. And instead, he felt like…like anger and sadness and loneliness all wrapped up in one pathetic little human man! If he did something too extreme, the town would notice, but he felt like if he didn't do something extreme, then he would burst into flame! If he sat down at the wheel, he'd probably spin so fast he'd set it on fire!

What to do, what to do, what to do!

How was he going to channel this anger he felt? How was he going to push it out of his body and into something productive!

Something productive…

He gave a mad little laugh as an idea jumped into his head. The idea grew until he knew exactly what he was going to do.

He sped home, not caring in the least if Emma was patrolling the roads. He raced back to his home, slammed his car door shut, and went into his house as fast as his legs could carry him. It was late, but he wasn't tired like he should have been. No…he was dedicated. He needed something to channel his rage into, and he knew what he needed to do more than anything in the world.

Who was August Wayne Booth?

No one fooled the Dark One, at least not as bad as he had, and got away with it. He wouldn't stand for such a thing, and he had no intention of resting until he knew who the Man With Dark Hair, "August Wayne Booth," really was because even though he was beginning to come to conclusions about him, there was one conclusion in particular that he valued above all others.

He knew his son.

It was the most important thing, the only thing that mattered, the only thing keeping him from going back and plunging his dagger into the liar's heart.

August Booth knew his son. Not only had the Seer told him that years and years ago, but tonight was proof.

He'd known who he was, the Dark One. He'd known about the dagger. Of course, that all could have been a coincidence; lots of people in this town knew he was the Dark One and could find the legends of his Dagger, not that they would know to look at the moment.

But there was more proof. Booth had information about him that only Baelfire would have known.

He'd called him "Papa," which also could have been a coincidence. "Papa" was a popular pet name for a father that many people from their land used. He'd heard Belle call her father "Papa" when he'd first gone to fetch her. Using that name could have simply been a lucky guess. And he had spoken to him about Baelfire's disappearance when he'd fucking begged the swine for forgiveness. Looking back, he might have given away too much information for Booth to work with.

But there was more still!

The ball. In his shop. He'd targeted that ball, pinpointed it because he'd wanted him to believe he was his son. What had he said? Wanted him to want it? He'd wanted it. He'd wanted it so much he'd bought it hook line and sinker. Because there was no one, no one, alive today that would have known that ball belonged to Baelfire. That had to be more than a lucky guess.

And then he'd talked to him about his cane and how he'd kept the dagger in his boot when they were in the forest. Those weren't just lucky guesses. Those were precise facts! And the only one who could have told him that detail was Bae himself.

Booth wasn't his son. But he knew him. He was confident about that! He might even know where his son was right now! But how to get him to tell him?

He had to figure out who he was. Who he really was! He had to get the upper hand and force his cooperation! Getting Emma to break the Curse…that would come when he knew exactly who he was dealing with and why he thought he was the only one who could get her to believe there was a Curse to be broken in the first place!

So…who was he?

There was no doubt he belonged to their world at some point. He knew about him, which could have been explained by talking to Baelfire, but he hadn't denied that he was from home when he asked him.

He was from there.

So who the fuck was he supposed to be?! Well…what did he know about him? Where could he begin? What were the clues? He could narrow it down by a few factors—actually, more than a few when he began to make a list.

There was a clue, one other clue that the Seer had given him long ago. He cursed himself. If he'd thought of the clue, really and truly thought it through, then he would have known he wasn't Baelfire.

The clue was Archie.

The first time he'd had the vision of the Man With Dark Hair…he'd had it because of the cricket. Archie, formerly Jiminy…he knew the Man With Dark Hair. That narrowed it down a bit. Archie had a long life, but he hadn't really associated with many people in that long life.

He knew that he knew Snow White. And the seven dwarves. He'd helped during her…what had he called it after she'd had the potion? Intervention? They'd called on him because he happened to be nearby with Gepetto, Marco here. He'd stuck to Marco nearly all the time in Storybrooke, just as he had in the Enchanted Forest. Marco and…

His blood ran cold.

A son separated from his father under difficult circumstances…

One who had information about him that the Blue Fairy might have...

As he gathered up his town records, his jaw dropped, and he forced himself to breathe. His head was putting together a puzzle, making it work.

August…he was here. He knew about the Enchanted Forest, but he was a stranger to it, someone from the outside world, Like Sarah Fischer across the street from the shop…he hadn't been carried over in the Curse. He'd come here some other way, which meant that he'd aged.

How old was Booth? Best guess? Late thirties, maybe early forties at worst. That meant, twenty-eight years ago, August Booth would have been a child. Potentially an older child, but…

How old had that puppet looked when the Blue Brat made him human? He hadn't seen him often. Maybe in one or two glimpses. Seven? Eight? Certainly no more than nine? If he'd come over before the Curse at that age, then that would put him…middle to late thirties.

"You've been making plans to see your son again since before I was made..."

Made, he'd said, not "born" as most would have. Wooden puppets weren't born...they were made.

He felt suddenly electrified as he shuffled through some of his papers, looking for a list he'd made when he'd first awakened from the Curse. He'd used town records then to identify as many citizens as he could, thinking it would be helpful for whatever was to come. In addition to that list, he'd made one other. It was a list of those that were "missing" or unaccounted for. He hadn't expected to know everyone, but for those, he did know he'd wanted to know where as many of them were as possible. That list hadn't been long but-

He held his breath as he found the list and skimmed through it.

Geppetto's puppet…Pinocchio…he was on the list of the missing.

He hadn't thought anything of it at the time. The Curse was designed to take away happy endings; Geppetto had always wanted to have a family and be a father. At one point, he could remember thinking the man was surely going to call on him to make a deal for a child of his own! Removing the child that the Blue Fairy had given him from his care would have been natural for the Curse.

When he'd made this list, he'd assumed the boy would be cared for with another family like Grace, Jefferson's daughter was. He hadn't thought it was important to check the schools for the child because he hadn't really considered him or even Geppetto as people of importance for the Curse. Archie? Yes, because he knew the Dark Haired Man! But the boy who'd once had red hair? He'd never considered he might be the same person. But hair could be dyed. Or even change as children grew. The child...

Child. His biggest clue. Last he'd checked, Pinocchio had been a child. But there were months that he'd spent in his prison where he hadn't a clue what had happened or where people had gone. It was possible something had happened while he'd been in there. Something that made the child valuable? Something to get the child here where he could age. How? He wasn't sure. He hadn't been able to look in on anyone during that time. The result was that he didn't even know how Emma had managed to escape the Curse. The Seer had always kept that from him until…

Until the day the Curse struck. He'd had a vision. He dropped his head into his hands as he struggled to remember it. There had been so much going on! That vision was nothing but a hazy image in the middle of a world being torn to shreds! What had he seen?!

There had been a bloody David placing his daughter inside a wardrobe of some kind. He'd closed the door, and when he opened it again, she'd been gone. There was nothing there but the hallowed tree. No! Not a hallowed tree. A wardrobe with doors. It had been carved. The wardrobe he'd placed her in had been carved out of a tree. Carved…as if by a master craftsman. Geppetto. And Pinocchio…

Suddenly he remembered something he hadn't thought of in years. It wasn't a memory that would come easily to him because he'd been Cursed when it had occurred. But there was something familiar about all this, something coming together in his brain, making a connection.

He was exhausted from the night, but the next morning at first acceptable light, he got ready for work and went to the shop like he always did. In the back room, he dug out an old file he hadn't seen in ten years. It was the file on Emma that the caseworker had sent him when he asked for it. The caseworker had been reluctant to hand it over, but when he'd heard that the mother of the boy that Regina wanted to adopt had been found not far from Storybrooke, he'd plead for any more information on the girl, and he'd gotten it.

Inside the file was a newspaper article. He'd read it once when he was Cursed and then forgotten about it, but something about all this brought a single detail he vaguely recalled back to his mind. The newspaper article had been written about Emma when she'd been found in the woods not far from Storybrooke. It was a piece about a baby, meant to elicit sympathy, to bring the parents forward or find her a home. Babies were good for that sort of thing, but there was one fact in it that wasn't appealing as an abandoned baby, and so the article hadn't given it much attention. But there it was, in black and white.

Emma Swan had been found in the woods by a young boy. Toward the end of the article, he noted a single line that stated the boy wasn't identified either, but it did mention…the boy was seven.

Thirty-five...that boy would be thirty-five years old today.

He sighed as he set the file aside and fell into his chair in the back, relief and wonder and understanding coursing through him all at once.

He knew who he was. Not for certain, he'd have to put his theory to the test somehow, but he could the certainty in his bones as the weight of truth settled over him.

August Booth wasn't his son, but he was someone's son.

[welllpthisishappening]

One Foot In (2/7)

The facts were these.

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

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

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

—–

Rating: Teen, but eventually they’re going to kiss Word Count: 9.3K this chapter that I don’t remember writing AN: Hello, lovely internet! You are lovely and have said some very nice things about this mess of words, so I really cannot thank you enough for that. Today we’ve got banter on banter, triple berry pie, and some plans for the future. Of which there can now be one, because Killian Jones was dead and he isn’t anymore.

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

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

—–

Emma Swan is twenty-nine years, six months, twenty-two days and, approximately, thirteen hours old when she is forced to stave off a panic attack in the viewing room of Storybrooke’s lone funeral home. 

It feels as if all the oxygen has been forcibly yanked out of the room, spots appearing in front of her eyes and vision swimming. The tandem seems a little bit like overkill, but Emma knows she doesn’t really have a leg to stand on this particular situation because, in this particular situation, the man standing a few inches away from her is supposed to be dead. 

In that coffin a few more inches away from her. 

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles, running a ragged hand over her face and she can only imagine what her face looks like. Probably a little crazed. And blotchy. She always gets blotchy when she’s stressed out. 

She’s started coming up with a new pie recipe in her head. 

And Killian won’t stop staring at her. 

That’s fair. Really, all things considered, that’s more than fair because there hasn’t been much of an explanation yet, but there wasn’t really time and— “Oh my God,” Emma repeats, and that time Killian arches an eyebrow. He takes a cautious step towards her, like he’s approaching a dangerous animal they found in the woods and the metaphor checks out. 

She takes another step back – only to crash directly into a chair. It would really suck if she broke several different bones in addition to breaking the most basic laws of the universe. 

Emma exhales. 

That is a mistake. She can’t seem to stop doing that. 

“Swan,” he says slowly, as if he’s nervous she’s going to explode and it doesn’t really feel like that. It feels like every one of her bodily systems is shutting down one by one and Emma wishes her eyes could focus on something. 

She looks at Killian. 

That is another mistake. Like. The biggest mistake. He’s definitely better looking as an adult. 

“Emma,” Killian says, ducking his head to get into his eye line and, honestly, that just seems unfair. She can’t remember the last time he called her Emma. It must be, at least, twenty-two years and that number sounds ridiculous in her head, but it’s been so long and so much has happened and he’s supposed to be dead. 

She couldn’t let him be dead. 

“Emma. Swan, I’m not entirely sure what we’re supposed to do next, but you’re doing that thing with your jaw and it’s giving me pause.”

She blinks – and clenches her jaw. “I’m not doing anything with my jaw.” “Please, I may only be recently alive. Realive? Reborn? Oh God, no, that’s worse, isn’t it?” Emma’s laugh is strangled and awkward, but she’s ninety-six percent positive he’s doing it to make her feel better and that seems fairly par for the course. If only a little unfair because he was, in fact, dead three minute before. 

“I don’t think reborn makes much sense really,” she mumbles. “And realive is just...you’re not a zombie or anything.” “No human brains involved, then?” “No. I mean...no, no human brains.” “That pause also gave me pause.” “I really doubt you’re going to have a sudden desire to eat human anything, so long as you weren’t a cannibal to begin with.” His answering laugh is like coming up for air after several decades of being stuck under a particularly aggressive current. It’s exactly the way Emma remembers it, and if she’s being honest with herself she never really tried to forget it. It’s bright, like its own source of light and happiness and both of those things seem to shift across his face in slow motion until they reach his eyes and everything is blue and normal and directed straight at Emma. 

She takes a deep breath. 

“Were you a cannibal to begin with?” she asks. Mistake number sixty-seven, at least, makes Killian laugh again. 

He shakes his head. “Not as such, no. Although I’d probably kill somebody for a hamburger.” “That’s aggressive.” “I’d imagine dying would do that to you.” Emma groans, not entirely out of frustration, but mostly because he keeps throwing around that word like it’s not the cause of the clench in her jaw. Her jaw is starting to ache. “No zombie tendencies,” she says, rehashing old and unnecessary points in a misplaced attempt to regain some control of the situation. It certainly doesn’t work when Killian runs his hand through his hair. “And I...well, we can probably get you food at some point.” “That so?” “I mean...I’d imagine you’d like to eat eventually.” “I feel like you’re asking me out on a date, Swan.”

The flush she feels in her cheeks at those particular words in that particular order do not make any sense considering the situation, but Emma has lost complete control of both the situation and her own bodily functions, so whatever. 

Licking her lips, she ignores the way Killian’s eyes dart towards her mouth. It is genuinely unfair how long his hair is. She keeps losing her train of thought. 

“I’m mostly just trying to figure out how to get you out of here,” she says. “I don’t…” Emma glances around, not sure what she’s looking for exactly and it is a genuine miracle of the universe that Ruby has not knocked on this door yet. 

The miracle ends rather abruptly. 

“Emma,” Ruby hisses, voice barely audible over what sounds like several different limbs colliding with the door. 

Killian freezes, eyes wide when his head snaps towards Emma. She’s going to do permanent damage to her jaw. 

She does something ridiculous with her hands – an attempt to keep him quiet without actually telling him to keep quiet – and her heart stutters when she notices him pull his lips back behind his teeth to stop from laughing. Strictly speaking, she probably shouldn’t be counting that as some kind of personal victory, but it’s been that kind of day and Emma is more than willing to blame either the cut of his suit or that one piece of hair behind his left ear or, the most likely culprit, how he keeps trying to rock into her space like he can’t actually stop himself from moving towards her. 

Killian winks at her. 

It’s absurd. 

Her pulse does not care. 

It kind of feels like she’s suffocating. It’s not entirely unpleasant. Except for what she assumes is stress-related acid reflux in the back of her throat. Because that feeling is certainly not guilt or regret or the several dozen things she should have told Killian Jones before he died. 

Ruby is definitely throwing her entire body at the door. “Emma,” she says. “Either you’re doing something entirely unacceptable in that room or you’ve been in there for way too long!” Emma closes her eyes at that, her whole body drooping forward with the force of her sigh and she can’t even bring herself to look at Killian. He also kind of sounds like he’s suffocating. On his own laughter. 

The universe is toying with Emma. There’s no other explanation. 

“Also,” Ruby continues, seemingly unperturbed by the lack of response to her monologue. “The director is starting to get suspicious and I think he’s got places to go with that coffin. Like graveyard things and they’ve got to move and we’ve got to get out of here before someone realizes what we’re—”

Emma curses, drawing a wide-eyed look out of Killian because he remembers her as a nine-year-old kid with mud on her knees and a questionable obsession with winning bike races. She ignores the flash of disappointment she feels at that, moving across the room as quickly as she can and barely opening the door before she slides back into the hallway. 

Ruby gapes at her. 

“What the hell have you been doing in there?” she demands, stepping on the toe of Emma’s boot like that’s some kind of reprimand. 

“Not any of the things you so were discreetly suggesting.” “Ok, I didn’t really think you were desecrating the body—” “—Jeez, Rubes. That’s...that’s a human being.” “I’m not questioning that. What I am questioning is what took so long and whether or not I can go home and pay off my credit card statements for several new pairs of Manolo Blahniks.” “That’s not practical at all for field work, you know that right?” “Not all of us are tied to our job,” Ruby says pointedly, and there is not enough oxygen in the entire world for Emma to sigh as loudly as she wants to. “But speaking of jobs...any pertinent information on this one?” Emma does her best not to use any of her tells. She does, really. She doesn’t move her feet, doesn’t reach up to grab the ends of a ponytail that seems to have just given up at some point. And she certainly doesn't allow her eye to twitch. 

None of it seems to matter.

Because Ruby blinks and lifts her eyebrows, judgments and questions all but radiating off her and it’s a losing battle Emma probably shouldn’t have ever started. Emma is, for all intents and purposes, the world’s worst liar. 

It’s not usually a problem. She doesn’t talk to enough people for it to become a problem. That, however, was before a not-dead Killian Jones was on the other side of the door behind her and her partner could read her almost as well as that same not-dead Killian Jones and he shouldn’t be able to read her that well. 

Still. Or always. Or whatever. 

Emma lets out a ragged breath, a pitiful attempt at a smile on her face. “Nothing,” she lies, and Ruby’s eyebrows practically disappear into her hair. “He uh...didn’t know anything.” “He didn’t know anything?” “Nope.” “Nope?” “Are we just going to repeat each other for the rest of time or, like, until one of us dies?” “Well, we’re in the right place for it, aren’t we?” Ruby asks, the sarcasm dripping off the words and landing on Emma’s feet until it soaks through her boots and leaves her socks damp in the most uncomfortable way. At least metaphorically. 

Emma scowls. “Hysterical. I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Rubes. The guy didn’t know anything about anything.” “The guy?” “You are repeating me again.” “Why are you calling him that? Two hours ago you were offended that I referred to him as a body and now—” “—Well, that’s just rude, that’s why,” Emma interrupts, ignoring the look on Ruby’s face. “I mean...he’s a person and we should, you know, respect the dead.” Ruby tilts her head, smile turning incredulous. “Yuh huh.”

Emma groans, letting her head fall back, which is definitely mistake, like, eighty-four at this point because it’s a very solid door and the pain feels as if it’s lingering at the base of her skull and growing, moving down her neck and into her shoulders until every inch of her feels heavy and impossible and decidedly wrong. 

She’s done something wrong. 

She is wrong. 

“Ok,” Ruby nods, a sudden and jarring acceptance that Emma doesn’t entirely trust. “You say the guy doesn’t know anything about how he died, then he doesn’t know anything about how he died. Because I believe you. Partner.”

“That is heavy handed,” Emma accuses, but all she gets is a shrug. 

“No, no, my dear Emma. That is a fact. I believe you and I trust you. And I know that this is...a touchy subject for you. I won’t pry because—” “—You won’t pry?” “No,” Ruby says, a note of finality in her voice. “I won’t. At least not now. Because you're doing that ridiculous thing with your jaw and toying with your fingers and if your eye twitches any more, it’s actually going to fall on the floor.” “That rhymed too.” “That was also unintentional. My point still stands.”

Emma sighs, a breath of frustration and confusion and that same guilt she hasn’t been able to shake for the better part of the last two decades. She can’t hear anything through the door behind her. 

She hopes he sat in a chair or something. 

It’d be weird if he sat in the coffin. 

“And the point is?” Ruby doesn’t quite haul off and punch her, but the fist that collides with Emma’s shoulder is certainly more than a tap. “Oh my God,” Emma grumbles. “What the hell was that?” “That was the visual representation of my annoyance with you today. This was good money and now we’ve got to do actual investigating to figure it out.” “Isn’t that your job?” “Not recently,” Ruby groans. “I hate working in the field. My shoes are totally inappropriate for it.”

“This is what I was saying.” Ruby makes a noise in the back of her throat – almost a growl and it sounds a little predatory, but Emma can’t back up any farther. She’s already a little worried she inadvertently concussed herself before. “Ok, tell me something, and I expect God's honest truth because we are somewhere God is watching.” “This is not a church.” “Shut up, the truth, Em, you got it?” Emma nods slowly, nerves churning in the pit of her stomach and she can dimly make out the funeral director hovering at the other end of the hall. They’ve probably disrupted his entire schedule. “Was Killian Jones as dreamy as an adult as you thought he was when you were nine?” In the grand scheme of questions Ruby could have demanded answers to, that is probably the last thing Emma expects. It shouldn’t be, because this is Ruby and the day appears to be going a very specific kind of way, but the question still catches her off guard and, if asked, she will blame both of those things for the next few words that fall out of her mouth. 

“Yeah, he was,” Emma mumbles, and Ruby makes a noise that’s somewhere between generic triumph and a pretty spot on impression of some kind of barnyard animal. “Oh my—Ruby, Ruby, shut up, shut up.”

Emma pushes on Ruby’s shoulder when she sags forward, laughter shaking its way through her body. It doesn’t really do much. “That funeral director is staring at us,” Emma whispers. “And you are not helping the situation at all.” “And what situation would that be? Exactly?” Those questions sound far more charged than the one about Killian’s overall state of dreaminess, especially when they’re combined with that knowing look and particular quirk of lips and the floor creaks when the funeral director moves towards them. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says, not sounding sorry at all and Emma suppresses a shudder at the tone of his voice. He gives her the creeps. “But I will have to ask you two to leave. The deceased has to be moved.” “Moved?” Emma echoes. 

“Yes, ma’am. That’s...well, he’s dead, ma’am.” “I’m aware.” Ruby throws her a warning glare, but Emma’s stubborn and, well...stubborn. She pushes away from the door, crossing her arms and waiting for an explanation to a question she hasn’t actually asked. The funeral director is a total creep. 

Something is wrong. 

She knows it. 

She just can’t figure out what. 

“The cemetery, ma’am,” he says. “We need to move the body to the cemetery so it can be, well...buried. As the deceased’s family requested.” “Do they actually have to request that?” Ruby asks, an entirely out of place question while Emma is fighting off another panic attack and she hadn’t really considered that. She hears something shift in the room behind her. 

The funeral director’s eyes dart up, staring over Emma’s shoulder as if he can see a ghost there. “Did you hear that?” “Nope,” Emma says, another incredibly bad lie. “Nothing. There’s...nothing in there, but, you know, dead bodies. One. There’s one dead body in there.” Ruby mumbles a very creative string of curses under her breath. 

“Right,” the funeral director says, drawing the word out in complete and obvious disbelief. “Well, the deceased's family is here and they’re looking to get this show on the road, so to speak.” “I really doubt they said that,” Emma mutters. Ruby’s next curse does not sound like it’s in English. 

“True. But I still need you two out of here. Now.” He says it with something Emma assumes he believes is authority, turning on his heels before she can begin to formulate an inappropriately snarky response. Ruby kicks her. 

“Ow,” Emma gasps. “What the hell was that for?” “You’re asking me that? What the hell were you on about just now? This is...we’ve got a connect here and it’s easier to get information before we get to the morgue—”

“—You love going to the morgue, don’t even try to lie to me like that. You get to flirt and use that face thing and—” “—I do not have a face thing.” “You do too,” Emma argues. “You have several face things and one face thing in particular for Victor because it always works and he ignores how awful it is that we show up whenever a new dead body does.” “He gets paid!” “Yell that a little louder, please.” Ruby growls again, all annoyance and frustration and balled up fists lifted in the air. “God, I hate when you’re right. Why are you getting all high and mighty about Killian Jones?” “I’m not.” “Emma.” “I’m not! I’m...listen, I lived here for some very formative years of my life and Killian Jones was…” “Very formative?” Ruby prompts. 

Emma shrugs. “More or less. Listen, he didn’t know anything about what happened. He...I mean he’s missing his hand and that’s got to be some kind of clue right?” “Are we looking for clues now?” “Ruby, you are a private investigator. With a growing shoe collection that is going to put you in debtors prison.” “Please, they don’t have debtors prison anymore. The IRS would just come for me.” “And you want to explain all those cash-only payments that are suspiciously off the book?”

Ruby’s eyes narrow until they’re barely more than slivers on her face and Emma grins like she’s not in the middle of a complete and utter disaster. “God I hate when you’re right,” she says again. “Alright. We’ll see if we can figure something out.”

It takes her a few steps to realize Emma isn’t following her towards the front door, nearly tripping over her own feet when she spins back around. “Why are you standing there still?” “I, uh...I think I may go to the service,” Emma says evasively. She’s genuinely the worst liar in every known universe. “You know, just to pay my respects.” “Didn’t you do that when you undeaded him?” “That doesn’t even make any sense. He was dead and then he wasn’t dead and—” “Now he’s dead again?” “Who do you think I am, Ruby?” Ruby shrugs, lower lip jutted out and Emma can practically hear the gears moving in her head. “I’m starting to wonder if I actually know. You’re really sure he didn’t know who killed him?” “I am not trying to keep the reward for myself.” “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t have to.”

Ruby clicks her tongue, digging her heels into the carpet. There’s a hint of blush on her cheeks. Emma appreciates that. “Yeah, that was kind of a dick move, huh?” she mutters. “I know you wouldn't do that. Seriously.” “Good. Listen, you don’t...there’s a bus station a couple blocks away from here.” “You’re not even going to drive me home?” Emma shrugs. “It’s probably a long service.” “It is incredible how bad you are at lying.” Ruby stares at her, like she’s looking for the truth lingering between Emma’s eyebrows or the tilt of her mouth, but she sighs when she, presumably, doesn’t find anything. “Fine,” she says. “I will take the bus home. If I die I fully expect you to bring me back to life, understood?”

Emma doesn’t actually stumble backwards, but it’s a pretty close thing. She bites her lower lip hard enough that she draws blood, the tang of it flooding her mouth and doing a pretty piss poor job of keeping her grounded. 

It feels as if her head has separated itself from the rest of her body and is just floating above her, drifting into the atmosphere where there is a distinct lack of oxygen. 

Digging her nails into her palms is another misplaced attempt at control through pain that she wishes her subconscious would stop relying on. It just ends with her hissing in a breath of unfulfilling air and Ruby’s eyebrows shifting again and—

“That’s not a funny joke,” Emma grumbles. 

“It wasn’t a joke. It was an instruction. I don’t care about the rules. That’s that. As they say.” “They?” “The eponymous they who decree what happens in the universe. Does this bus come often?”

“I haven’t lived here in a very long time.” “You’re no help at all,” Ruby sighs, but she does reach out and give Emma’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. It’s at least an attempt at a comforting squeeze. It would probably feel better if Emma were getting the necessary oxygen to her brain to retain its higher functions. “Ok, I’m leaving now. You’ll probably continue being...a giant weirdo. I’ll see you downstairs tomorrow morning with anything I can find.”

Emma nods, not entirely trusting herself to talk as she fumbles for the door handle behind her. Ruby casts one more curious glance around the hallway, probably looking for more clues or signs that Emma has messed with the tremulous balance of the universe, but there’s nothing and Killian doesn’t sound like he’s knocked anything else over. 

“Ok, cool,” Ruby says, not sounding ok or cool. 

Emma counts to ten in her head – and then counts to twenty for good measure, the metal of the doorknob cool in her grip. Breathing is still a very particular challenge, but Killian isn’t dead and Emma refuses to acknowledge the idea of cemeteries and burials and she’s flying by the seat of several metaphorical pants. 

She opens the door. 

He’s leaning back against the goddamn coffin. Smiling. At her. 

“So,” Killian says conversationally, arching an eyebrow. “That seemed to go well. I’d imagine there are some things going on here that you’re not telling me.” “There wasn’t really time.” He hums, mouth twisted into something that looks a little patronizing and kind of flirty. Emma doesn’t know how to deal with either one of those things. “Because of those seconds you mentioned before.” “Yeah, exactly that. Listen, Killian we don’t really have—” “Time,” he cuts in. “Yeah, I’ve got that. Did that guy out there say my uncles were here?” “What?” “I’d imagine that’s the family he was talking about. Since that’s the only family I’ve got.” “What?” “Swan, you can’t just keep squawking the same question at me, we’ll only end up going in circles.” “Squawking?” Emma repeats, and she definitely does exactly that. Her voice even cracks. It’s absurd. That may just be Killian’s smile. 

Her smile. Definitely her smile. 

“Just like that,” he says, moving away from the coffin. It wobbles precariously on its perch and Emma thanks several gods she doesn’t entirely believe in that it hasn’t fallen over at some point. “So I’ll ask again. Are my uncles here?” “I don’t know. But, um...the guy was talking about family and, well, they want to bury you.” “That generally happens when one dies.” “You’re taking this all very easily,” Emma says, not sure why she’s pointing it out when she’s certain any other reaction would only prove more problematic than the problems they’re already dealing with. 

“Well, you look a little frazzled. It seemed rude to add my own emotions to the mix.”

She scoffs – disbelieving and entirely believing because the Killian Jones she always knew would do exactly that, in any situation, even twenty years later with a coffin involved. “I’m so sorry,” Emma whispers, the apology working its way out of her without her explicit permission.

Killian blinks, mouth opening with a soft pop. “That’s what you said before. Right before you left. You apologized. I didn’t understand it then either.” “You remember that?” “I remember quite a bit, Swan.” “Yeah, me too, actually.” She feels like she’s admitting to something much bigger – possibly even bigger than the apology and it might be why she couldn't will her lips to go any farther a few minutes before. He couldn’t be dead. It didn’t make sense. 

None of this makes sense. 

“So,” Killian continues, another step into Emma’s space. There are far too many chairs in this room. “You keep doing that too. Moving. Is the dead thing freaking you out?” Emma shakes her head. “No, that’s it.”

“Then…”

“I need you to stop trying to move so close to me.” “Ah, so it’s me, then? That’s...admittedly disappointing.” The butterflies in the pit of Emma’s stomach appear suddenly and rather violently, threatening to fly up her throat and out of her mouth and she’s suddenly filled with so much energy that it’s impossible not to tap her fingers against the side of her thigh. Killian presses his tongue into the corner of his mouth. “Oh my God, stop that,” Emma mutters absent-mindedly, and they both blink when they realize what she’s said. “It’s...that’s distracting.” “Am I distracting you, Swan?” “From trying to figure out how we’re going to get you out of here? Yes.” “Ah, yeah, I’d imagine just walking out the door would probably cause that creepy sounding funeral director to have several different medical issues, huh?” “You thought he was creepy?” Killian makes a face. “He sounded creepy didn’t he? I mean, admittedly that may just be because he kept calling me the deceased and it’s kind of messing with my psyche, but…” “Is your psyche being messed with?” Emma asks, and that time she’s the one who steps forward, instinct and long-dormant magnets and whatever the butterflies are still doing. She’s going to have fingernail-shaped crevices in her palm for the rest of her life.

“Seems inevitable.” “Ah, that sucks.” “It’s not your fault, Swan.”

Emma makes a contradictory noise in the back of her throat, tugging her lips behind her teeth. And Killian grins at her. It seems unfair. For him and her and some kind of collective them. 

She considers that for a moment – a collective unit with collective pronouns and some kind of team of non-death related emotions and for that half a moment Emma allows herself to believe it’s even a possibility, she feels herself smiling as well, a certainty and something that almost resembles calm and she wants it so much she’s surprised to find she’s not actually shaking with it. She couldn’t let him be dead. 

“We need to get you out of here,” Emma announces. 

“Any ideas how to do that?” She shakes her head, tugging the elastic out of her hair and all but yanking the strands over her shoulder and she’s fairly certain she doesn’t imagine the way Killian’s eyes widen slightly at that. “You alright?” she asks, and he nods brusquely. “I mean you know…” “I know what you meant, Swan. I’ll let you know if I’m drifting towards any perilous cliffs of emotional breakdown.” He chuckles at his own joke, flashing a grin her direction when he starts pacing the room as if a hidden door or secret compartment will suddenly appear. “The creepy funeral director said they were going to the cemetery, right?” “I’d imagine that’s where they usually put the bodies, yes.” “Was that a joke?” “It might be a defense mechanism.” “Yeah, I understand that,” Killian nods. “Eventually you’re going to have to tell me about those rules that were being discussed before.” Emma doesn’t exactly freeze. She definitely tenses, though, every one of her muscles objecting at the abrupt position she’s forced them into. “What?” she breathes, and Killian laughs again. 

“C’mon, now, Swan, it’s Storybrooke. Everything here is several hundred years old and probably a historic artifact. Shoddy craftsmanship in this building. Also, unless you’ve learned how to tap dance in the last twenty years, you’re doing a very good job of avoiding being in several feet of me. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.” “Smart guy.” “Perceptive,” he corrects. “So, what do you say, eventually you’ll tell me about the rules of this little arrangement we seem to find ourselves in?” “Is that what we’re going to refer to it as?” “Eh, might as well. What did you call it? A defense mechanism? Seems to be the same kind of thing almost.” “Or drifting dangerously close to that breakdown precipice.” Killian shakes his head, moving quicker than Emma expects and he’s only a few inches away from her. She swears she can feel the heat rolling off him. Like the world is trying to prove a point. “No precipice, love,” he promises, but Emma barely hears him over the rushing in her ears and the thundering sound of her own pulse and he’s never called her that before. 

He doesn’t seem to realize he’s done it. 

“I’d really rather not be buried alive though,” Killian continues. “Now that I am alive again.” Emma rolls her eyes. “Stop that.” 

That grin should be illegal. Or deadly. God. 

He salutes at her. That’s even worse than the smile. 

“Where did you learn how to do that?” “You know Nemo used to be in the Navy?” “I did not.” “Oh, yeah, very proper, very structured and then he met Shakespeare when he was on leave one day and everything changed.” “That so?” “Absolutely,” Killian says, moving towards the only window in the room and the glass creaks when he slides it open. “Nemo was in port, didn’t feel like drinking his guts out, or so he likes to say when he tells the story, and he decided to do something refined. By taking in a vaudeville show, of course.” “Of course. How high up are we?” “Not high. We should probably close that coffin, don’t you think?” “It was closed when I got in here,” Emma says, doing her best to close it as quietly as possible and it still sounds far too loud. Killian is half hanging out the window. 

The whole thing is inching dangerously close to farce. 

“Then I can’t imagine they’ll double check on it when we both leave,” Killian says. “Anyway, where was I?” “Vaudeville. True love conquering all.” “I don't think I got that far, Swan. You’re ruining the flow of the story.” She hums, some more misplaced sarcasm and possible flirting and Killian groans when he slings his legs over the windowsill. “Anyway,” he continues. “Nemo went to the show, took one look at Shakespeare and realized that maybe it was worth putting down some roots for a little while, that the appeal of the sea wasn’t wonderful and glorious—” “—He used those exact words?” “He did. Do you want to jump out the window after me, Swan?” “I don’t see any other choice. Although I’m not sure how we’ll get it back down.” Killian waves a dismissive hand through the air. “Maybe they forgot they opened it in the first place. It gets stuffy in rooms like this anyway.” “That’s leaving quite a lot to chance, don’t you think?” “I do not think. C’mon on now, where’s my slightly adventurous, ready to take on the world Swan?”

Emma straightens slightly – the words moving into the spaces between her ribs and wrapping around her heart. They grip tightly, almost on the wrong side of painful, but it’s also kind of warm and a bit familiar and Killian keeps looking at her like he’s simply been waiting for her to come back. To him. And them. 

Collectively. 

“She grew up,” Emma says, and Killian clicks his tongue in reproach. 

“Ah, you don’t want to do that, love. It’s not nearly as fun.” “What happened to Nemo?” “True love conquered all, naturally. He and Shakespeare started talking and there were some drinks involved, probably a few questionably funny nautical jokes—Nemo loves those, you know. And then they decided that was it for them. They were it. Nemo left the force and started following Shakespeare around and they were entertaining and then, well...you know the rest.”

Emma nods, because she does know the rest and it would probably be weird if she apologized again. She opens her mouth anyway, not sure what she’ll say, but there are footsteps coming down the hall and voices joining the footsteps and she hisses go before she can consider saying anything else. 

Killian winks again. And jumps out the goddamn window. 

Emma nearly dislocates several different joints when she follows, but she does and, somehow, manages to yank the window, mostly, down in the process – a move she’s certain she’d never be able to duplicate. 

“That was impressive, Swan,” Killian says, brushing a few stray pieces of grass off his pants. “Should we dramatically escape now?” Emma mumbles something that may be oh my God under her breath, but she doesn’t actually disagree and he resolutely refuses to sit in the backseat of her car as they drive out of Storybrooke. 

“So, let me get this straight, you touch people, they’re not dead and then you touch them again and they’re—“

“—Dead forever, yeah, that’s the gist of it.”

Killian tilts his head, and Emma resists the very real urge to run into her kitchen, hide in her freezer and never come out. She assumes that would be slightly immature. 

It’s hours and several slices of pie later, Killian’s slightly stunned laugh that you opened a pie restaurant, Swan echoing in between her ears still, and, as promised, she’s started to explain some of the rules. 

Some of them. 

Not all of them. 

Not one of them. Specifically. 

She’s circled right back around to immature. 

But touching her childhood sweetheart twenty minutes before he was slated to be buried and then keeping him alive, despite the so-called rules of the universe, seems a little immature. All things considered. So, maybe, she’s just on some kind of roll at this point. 

She genuinely cannot cope with that one piece of hair falling across his face. 

Or whatever it appears he’s doing with his eyebrows. 

He did not know how to do that when he was nine. 

“So I’d imagine kissing you really is entirely out of the question.”

Emma nearly falls over. “Excuse me?”

“Relax, Swan,” Killian mutters, leaning dangerously far over the counter and he grins when she clicks her tongue in reproach. “It was a joke.”

“You were dead six hours ago, how could you possibly be in the mood for jokes?”

He shrugs, an air of nonchalance that feels decidedly forced. “How did you figure out you could do this?”

The fear that slinks down Emma’s spine isn’t exactly cold, which, really, is kind of strange, but until that moment she hadn’t realized an emotion could have a temperature. It’s not cold, but it’s kind of…prickly, as if it’s desperate to remind her of what’s going on and what she’d done and how she absolutely cannot possibly tell Killian about any of it. 

She pushes a plate of pie towards him. Triple berry. Which, if memory serves, is his favorite. The grin turns into something closer to a smirk. 

“Eat,” she says. 

“You keep trying to feed me, you know. This is not the cheeseburger I requested earlier. Isn’t there something about last meals?”

“This is not your last meal. Also I do not have any cheeseburgers here. This is a pie restaurant.”

“Does that do good business?” “Are you worried about my bottom line?” He shakes his head, “Not in that sense.”

“Killian!”

His eyes widen at the sound of his own name, and it’s not the first time she’s said it, but it kind of feels that way and they were definitely flirting and Emma is far too preoccupied with how close their fingers are to be worried about anything happening to his face. She jerks her hand back to her side, breath catching in her throat and this was a mistake. 

Ruby is going to kill her. 

The hiding in the kitchen plan is starting to get even more appealing. 

“You’re still not very good at avoiding the subject,” Killian murmurs, glancing up at her from underneath his eyelashes. “Alright, we’ll try a different approach. How’d you know I was dead?”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you not hear the question or…you haven’t been back in Storybrooke for awhile.”

“Twenty years, in fact.” He hums, leaning forward again to grab a fork. Emma cannot fathom how he knows where she keeps her forks. That sentence sounds ridiculous even in her head. 

“Long time,” Killian muses. “And you what? Wanted to pay your respects? Did you actually see Nemo or Shakespeare?” “I was doing a very good job of avoiding them.” “Were you now?” “You’re not nearly as clever as you think you are,” Emma mutters. Killian needs to stop doing whatever he’s doing with his mouth. 

“Why didn’t you ever come back?” “What?” 

“You keep repeating yourself, Swan. It’s a very straightforward question.” “No, it’s not.” Killian makes a vaguely interested noise – which is, actually, kind of nice because Emma knows he’s more than interested and definitely holding back and he’s still far too good at reading her. It’s disconcerting. “Alright, I’ll make you a deal, Swan,” he says. “You don’t have to answer the questions you think are more than complicated and neither do I. But we don’t actually lie to each other. I...I’m not sure I can cope with you lying to me, love.” His voice stumbles a bit on the last few words, a hint of emotion and another endearment Emma is positive he doesn’t realize he keeps drifting to. He glances at her again, the look almost brimming with every single emotion she hadn’t understood when she was nine, but still kind of feels when she’s twenty-nine. 

Emma huffs, a sigh and a pointed eye roll as Killian sticks a fork into his slice of pie. “I, uh…know these things. About death. And dead people.”

“You know these things? Are you also some kind of soothsayer?”

“Ok, c’mon, that’s not even—“

“—Funny?” Killian challenges, and Emma cannot glare hard enough when he does something else with his mouth. “I think it’s absolutely hysterical given the situation. Also, this pie is delicious.”

Her emotions have a slightly different temperature-based reaction at that – flushed and warm and something that feels distinctly like more butterflies in the pit of her stomach. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she mumbles, and Killian’s eyes do that thing, that thing she’d remembered even after years and more than a decade apart and she couldn’t let him be dead. He couldn’t be dead. 

Those words just don’t make sense in that order. 

“Avoiding,” Killian says, pausing between every syllable. “How’d you know I was dead?”

“Stop saying it like that!”

Emma doesn’t mean to snap. She doesn’t. She’s actually desperate to maintain some semblance of control because everything feels like it’s spiraling very quickly and Ruby is genuinely going to murder her. 

And then make it look like an accident. 

And somehow collect the reward. 

There’s no one to offer up a reward for figuring out how Emma died. 

God, she’s even depressing in metaphor. 

“Swan,” Killian presses when she doesn’t say anything else. She pulls her gaze back up, despite every inclination not to, and it is probably another mistake, but that’s kind of been her MO all day and he’s staring at her exactly like she’d always remembered. 

He can’t actually touch her – they’re both almost painfully aware of it, but he’d always been creative and Emma lets out a shaky laugh when he stabs the side of her hand with the tongs of his fork. 

“The truth, love, let’s have it.”

She swallows before she answers, because it feels as if all those emotions, with their varying temperatures, have settled in the back of her throat and he’d never called her love when they were ten, but he had called her Swan and that was the first thing he said when he saw her. 

Emma hadn’t been Swan in a very long time. She likes it far more than she’s willing to admit. 

And she’s just about to tell him, really, she’s got every intention, but the TV sitting in the corner of the kitchen is on and it must be close to ten o’clock because the news has started playing and right there, leading the broadcast, is Killian Jones, found dead, authorities willing to pay for more information. Emma feels his stare even with her eyes squeezed closed. Which they are. Suddenly. And tightly. 

The last thing she expects him to do is laugh, and he doesn’t quite do that, it’s more a disbelieving scoff, but it’s also not yelling and Emma figures that’s a win.

“So, what?” Killian asks, poking Emma again when she refuses to open her eyes. “You touch murder victims and—“

“—Ask them who killed them? Yes.”

“And this is a business of yours?”

Emma shakes her head. “This is the business,” she says, waving her hand around the empty restaurant. “The other thing is a…hobby.”

“You must bring in a considerable income for your hobby.”

“I have a partner.”

Killian does laugh at that and Emma tells him the rest – how Ruby saw her and it was an accident, but it works and the money is good and justice is being served or something. His eyebrows twist several times throughout the explanation, lips pressed tightly together at one point so he doesn’t smile too wide. 

And, really, Emma would like to believe she still knows Killian well enough to guess what he’s going to say after she’s detailed every last thing, but it’s been a very long time and he’s got that one piece of hair that seems determined to torment her now and the reward for information about his death was incredibly large. Questionably large. Almost too large, really. 

“Is that the voice I heard before?” Killian asks, and Emma nods. She’s started mixing something at some point. She doesn’t actually remember when she decided to do that, but it seems to have just happened and Killian appears almost amused by it. 

“Yeah. She wasn’t entirely pleased you didn’t know who killed you. It means she’ll have to do actual PI work and that messes with her fashion choices.” “I’m not sure I understand the order of the words in that sentence.” “I wouldn’t expect you to.” “And you normally...touch these people again? After you figure out who killed them.” Emma nods, but it’s cautious and she feels like she’s stepped onto incredibly thin ice. She mixes harder. “Yeah, always.” “Was I the straw that broke the camel’s back?” “No, no, I just...I couldn’t.” “I should probably be thanking you for that, huh?” “Not necessary.” “It seems incredibly shitty that I can’t even hold your hand,” Killian muses, almost like he’s saying it to himself and Emma hears her jaw crack before she actually feels it drop. He shrugs. “I’m just saying. That was...that was kind of our thing, wasn’t it? I know it was a long time ago, but—” “—No,” Emma says, far too loud to be anything except enthusiastic and just a hint desperate. “That was definitely our thing. You know they said they found your body at the bottom of the hill.” “Our hill?” Emma startles at another joint pronoun – and it doesn’t really even make sense because they didn’t own that hill, but her mind doesn’t care. It latches on to ours and linked hands and how much she wants from Killian Jones. 

Still. Or always. Whatever.

“So,” he says, grabbing the rest of the pie tray as soon as her mouth is closed and not even bothering to cut another slice. “You think your partner would go for 30-30-40? I feel like I should get more, since I did die for it and everything.”

Emma blinks. “What?”

“Let’s find out who killed me, Swan.”

She’s not entirely surprised by it. Honestly. Emma kind of, almost, sort of expected him to say it, but she blinks again anyway, nerves chipping away at every corner of her brain and her life and the seemingly unstable structure of it all. 

Emma has spent the  last few years of adulthood doing her best to compartmentalize everything. She’s got work and the side work and Ruby’s never even been in her apartment. There are no photos of Ingrid there. There’s nothing even resembling sentiment. 

Except for the photo booth print out she’s got in a drawer next to her bed, a souvenir of the one time she and Killian went to the fair and he won her a stuffed animal that she definitely lost somewhere between houses ten and eleven. 

Maybe she is a little sentimental. 

“Thoughts?” Killian prompts when Emma stays, presumably, frustratingly silent. “Feelings? Immediate reactions other than whatever it is you and your jaw are doing. That can’t be good for your molars, Swan.” “My molars specifically?” “I’d imagine it’s detrimental to most of your teeth, but your molars probably play the biggest role. There’s lots of clenching going on in that jaw of yours.” “You are not a dentist.” Killian drags the fork through the last few pie crumbs, resting both his elbows on the counter. “That’s an accurate observation. I am, however, someone well acquainted with orthodontia and a particularly torturous summer that included a copious amount of headgear.” “That was a lot of adjectives.” “Felt appropriate. And to be fair, it did make my teeth...better.” Emma laughs. She wishes she wouldn’t. No, that’s wrong. She shouldn’t wish to laugh less. It’s just weird to laugh this much. 

That’s depressing. 

“Were your teeth in need of being better?” she asks, and they’re both doing a fairly admirable job of avoiding the situation. 

“If you ask either one of my uncles, they will tell you that it was a form of controlling me—”

“—Controlling you?” “And my incredibly dreamy face.”

“I didn’t say that.” “Eh. I believe you agreed rather quickly with the disembodied voice on the other side of the door regarding my overall dreaminess. Is that why you kept me alive?” Emma nearly bites her tongue in half. And Killian scowls almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, understanding washing over his face. He grits his teeth. His admittedly very straight teeth. “Punch me in the face when I say shit like that,” he mumbles, almost falling off the stool he’s perched on when he realizes what he’s said. 

Again. 

“That’s not why I kept you alive,” Emma whispers, but it feels like a promise and sounds like a guarantee and she’s got no structure at all any more. She’s got...a mess, really, is what she’s got. “Although it is admittedly a perk.”

She’s a little proud of herself for very clearly catching him off guard. 

His eyes widen and his breath catches audibly and the sound of the fork clattering back onto the counter in between them is gratifyingly loud. 

It’s a good look, honestly. 

“Yeah?” Killian asks, a little breathlessly and, surprisingly, cautious, and Emma nods slowly as if she hadn’t been in love with him when he was nine. And he hadn’t grown up into whatever was sitting on the other side of her restaurant counter. 

Staring at her – still. 

“Yeah,” Emma guarantees. “We’re not doing this, though.” “Doing what? Exactly?”

“Not that.” “I didn’t say anything.” “Yeah, tell that to your face.” “You seem very intent on discussing my face, Swan.” She hisses in a breath, frustrated at how quickly these metaphorical tables appear to have turned. Killian’s eyebrows do something she’d been previously convinced was biologically impossible. “I’d like to punch you in the face.” “But you can’t do that,” Killian points out. “And forgive me for rehashing old points, love, but you were the one investigating my murder were you not?” “We don’t know that’s what it was.” Killian eyes her, and for half a second it looks just like Liam and just like those memories Emma has been so desperate to forget, but she’s still got those pictures and there wasn’t really much choice in keeping him alive. 

“Swan,” he says. It sounds like Liam too, all adult and twenty years in audible form and Emma grips the counter until her knuckles crack as soon as he holds up his left arm. “We said we weren’t going to lie, love.” “Are you ok?” The words fall out of her before she’s really considered them, the question not big enough and far too big all at the same time – because, upon closer examination, the blunt end of his arm isn’t really all that blunt, like someone took care of him or tried to fix it and she can’t imagine what must be going through his mind. 

Emma is waiting for the fallout. Always. 

It can’t just be ok. She’s far too wrong for that. 

“That’s a rather loaded question, don’t you think?” “Yeah,” Emma agrees. “But we’ve kind of been bantering and it’s been—” “—Very easy to do that, actually. That’s been kind of nice. It was...I missed you quite a bit, Swan.” Emma blinks, and presses her lips together, afraid of what she’ll say if she doesn’t and even more terrified of what she might not say – this promise of being honest with each other appears to have blown up in her face far quicker than she expected it to. 

“Did you?” she asks, not much more than a squeak and after all the relative ease of conversation, they’ve suddenly stumbled and broken a few bones. Metaphorically. Killian’s lost his hand. Literally. 

Killian jerks his head, a quick and nervous nod that would have stunned his ten-year-old self. “You never came home.” “It wasn’t really my home.” “That’s not true.” Emma’s jaw aches. “You didn’t really answer my question, you know.” “About being ok?” She must nod, because her hair brushes over her ear, but Emma feels as if all of her muscles have frozen in place and they can’t possibly eat more pie. Killian sighs, head falling forward when he tugs on the hair at the nape of his neck. “Eh,” he groans. “I am...doing my best not to drift towards that precipice and wondering if my uncles are ok and what the hell I’ve gotten into and, uh...every single thing that’s happened to you between getting in that car and showing up at my funeral.” “I promise it’s not that interesting.” “Ah, I don’t know about that. You know I always thought you could do something incredible, but now you’ve gone and proven that you’re real, literal magic, Swan. It’s messing with my head a little bit.” “I’ve been doing this for a very long time and it’s constantly messing with my head.” His laugh lacks a distinct amount of humor, but his smile is genuine when he glances back up at her and Emma knows they can’t stay in the restaurant. The thought of where they’ll go makes those butterflies rise up again. 

“You look exhausted,” Killian says, waving a finger through the air. He ignores Emma’s soft cry of protest when he gets too close. “I don’t have an actual death wish, Swan. You have to relax.” “That’s not really my thing.” “A work in progress.” “Aren’t you tired?” she challenges. 

“Feel as if I could sleep like the dead.” “You aren’t dead.” She says it with almost too much conviction, like she’s trying to convince herself as well as Killian and anyone else who realizes that he is, in fact, not dead. It’s a determination Emma isn’t sure she’s felt in years, but it feels kind of good – warm and confident, like coming home to a home she’d forgotten she’d ever had. She assumes there are fuzzy blankets involved too. 

“I know I’m not,” Killian whispers. “Thank you for that.” More conviction. More emotions. More—”You want to come upstairs?” “You live upstairs?” “I’m nothing if not efficient.” Killian chuckles, finger still in his hair as he gets off the stool. “Lead the way, Swan.” She hasn’t really had time to organize her space – and it feels a little bit like opening herself up, but Emma hasn’t actually found she’s nervous around Killian for any of the reasons she’s supposed to be nervous and she kind of wants him to be there. She absolutely, positively missed him too. 

He glances around the living room, taking in sparse decorations and the curtains that came with the apartment when Emma moved in. There are a few pillows on the couch – they came with the couch too – and plates in the sink, coffee still in the pot because she’d been running late to meet Ruby that morning. 

Killian’s lips twitch when he notices the small collection of scarves hanging on a rack by her front door, the same kind of rack Ingrid had in their house because Ingrid wore scarves eight months out of the year and—

“I like it,” he says with a smile and Emma’s skin feels as if it bursts into flame. 

“You can take the bed if you want. I’m...the couch is fine until we figure out what we’re going to do later.” “Solve a murder?” “Killian.” “I can sleep on the couch, Swan. This is your apartment.” “Yeah, but—” Killian shakes his head. “If you make some kind of dead joke, I’ll start investigating my own murder without you and it won’t be nearly as fun.” “Seems like you’re punishing yourself. And we’re not investigating your murder. That is...tempting fate.” “Yeah, well, fate seems to have reached out and punched me squarely in the jaw first, don’t you think?” Emma huffs, but she’s familiar with this particular brand of stubborn and it really does feel as if she could fall asleep standing up. “Plus, uh...what if we both just stayed out here? For...old time’s sake?” “Old time’s sake?” “And how much I don’t really want to be by myself.” He says it so softly, Emma wonders if she didn’t just imagine it, but he doesn’t blink when he gazes at her and they used to do it all the time when they were little – alternating living rooms and coming up with increasingly impressive blanket forts with designs Liam drew by hand. Killian always fell asleep before her. 

“Yeah, ok,” Emma breathes. “I’ll get us some more blankets.” It doesn’t take long for them to find themselves back in the living room  – teeth brushed and blankets moved and Killian wearing clothing that’s far too big for Emma and far too small for him and it probably would have been funny if she didn’t feel as if her lungs were being twisted. 

They lay several feet apart from each other on the floor, pillows tucked under heads and arms tucked under pillows and it’s familiar and not and Emma wonders if time doesn’t actually stop for a moment. 

She hopes so. 

She wants this to linger. Forever. 

“Good night, Swan,” Killian says. He doesn’t reach out, doesn’t try to hold her hand like he would have all those years ago, but it sounds the same and it feels the same and, that time, Emma falls asleep first.

[abovethemists]

Are you still taking prompts? Rumbelle: flowers, wingman Charming

Mr. Gold was fairly certain the door to the library was of average weight as far as doors were concerned. He’d never had a problem opening it before and he visited the library on a weekly, if not daily, basis. It typically swung open with nothing more than a gentle nudge of his hand, but somehow it had become an immovable object over night. 

It wasn’t locked. The fact that his hand was currently clasped around the handle and it had cracked open ever so slightly was proof enough of that. But he couldn’t seem to make it budge any further. And so he stood there, stupidly, holding the door handle of the Storybrooke Free Public Library at 11:30 on a Friday morning for the whole town to see. He probably looked as though he were having a stroke. 

“Mr. Gold,” came a concerned voice from behind him and Gold released the door handle at once, watching it fall closed with a gentle thump. He turned to find David Nolan blinking at him in the morning sunlight. “Are you alright?” 

“Fine,” was Gold’s clipped reply. 

David nodded, his gaze falling to Gold’s right arm. “Are those for Belle?”

Gold followed David’s gaze to the bouquet of peonies nestled in the crook of his arm. They were Belle’s favorite, a fact she’d mentioned once in passing months ago now. They were finally in season in late May and he’d seen clusters of them for sale in the florist’s shop down the street. Madness had overcome him for a moment and before he knew what he was doing he’d purchased a bouquet of them and was standing in front of Belle’s place of work, prepared to make an utter fool of himself by giving them to her in public. He might as well write across his forehead in permanent ink that he had a massive crush on the librarian, one he could never hope for her to return. 

And that’s why the door had suddenly felt so heavy. He’d come to his senses, realizing the mortification he was about to subject himself to and worst of all, the embarrassment he’d be forcing on Belle when she realized his inappropriate feelings toward her and was forced to let him down gently. 

“No, of course not,” he snapped on instinct, realizing a moment too late that walking into the library with a bouquet of flowers that were not for Belle was an even stranger set of circumstances. “They’re for my mother,” he added lamely. 

David’s brows knitted together. “Your mother,” he repeated. “Does she live in town?” 

Gold felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was usually a much more adept liar, but he’d been caught so off guard. In truth he had no idea where his mother might be or even if she was still alive. She’d left his father when he was little more than a baby and never seen fit to track him down in the fifty years since. 

“No,” he said again, relying on his fearsome reputation and years of masking his emotions to fix David with an icy glare, daring the other man to call his bluff. 

David crossed his brawny arms across his chest, shaking his head slightly with a smile. Gold was apparently losing his touch when it came to intimidation tactics. 

“They’re for Belle,” he said knowingly. 

He’d figured him out, of course. David wasn’t the smartest tool in the shed, but he wasn’t a complete idiot either. Still, there were worse people who could have witnessed his shame. At least David was kind. 

“Well, I’m here to pick up some summer reading books for Emma,” David said, clapping his hands together. “So I’m going to go inside, go to the children’s section, and find the shelf with the fourth grade reading list.” 

Gold nodded dumbly, wondering why David Nolan was explaining his actions to him. 

“I assume Neal will also need to pick out his summer reading books,” David continued. “Would you like to come in with me?” 

Gold had already purchased Neal’s summer reading books on Amazon last week, but it seemed imprudent to say so. David was offering him a reason to enter the library other than making a fool of himself in front of Belle. 

“Alright,” he agreed, shifting the flowers in the crook of his arm to his left hand and tightening his grip on the handle of his cane. 

David gave him a smile, reaching around him to hold the door open. There was a blast of cool air from inside, the smell of books, leather and paper, and the slightest trace of the heady scent of Belle’s perfume on the air. God he was hopeless. 

“Hello!” Belle said brightly from the circulation desk as they entered. She was wearing yellow today, the color absolutely sublime in contrast with her dark hair, spilling over her shoulders in tousled waves. 

“Hey, Belle,” David said, giving her a wave. “We’re looking for the fourth grade summer reading list.” 

“Of course,” Belle said, jumping up from her place behind the desk and walking over to them. Her sunny yellow top was tucked in to a short black skirt, miles of her pale, perfect legs on display. She was wearing a pair of black and white heels that added a full four inches to her diminutive frame, bringing her almost up to Gold’s height. She was perfect and beautiful and oh, God, he was staring. Gold suddenly turned his attention to the corkboard beside the front door advertising upcoming community events. 

“Right this way,” Belle said, beckoning them to follow her, her skirt swishing about her thighs. Gold had to avert his eyes once again.   

She led them to the back where the small children’s section was and picked up a purple binder with pages of book titles encased in plastic sheet protectors. 

“Right here,” she said, laying the binder open on top of one of the low bookshelves to the page for the local school’s fourth grade class. David leaned over it, perusing the titles and Belle turned to Gold, gifting him with the full force of her beautiful smile and sparkling blue eyes. 

“How are you today, Mr. Gold?” she asked. 

“Oh I’m magnificent,” he said, returning her smile stupidly. 

Belle laughed as though he’d told a hilarious joke and Gold heard a snort from David behind him. He chose to ignore it. 

“Oh, those are beautiful!” Belle exclaimed, taking notice of the flowers in Gold’s grip. “Did you know peonies are my absolute favorite flower?”

“Are they?” Gold said, feigning surprise and pointedly ignoring the look David was giving him as he searched the bookshelves. “What a happy accident. Why don’t you take them?” 

Belle’s eyes widened. “Oh, I couldn’t take your flowers.” 

“Please,” Gold said, holding them out to her. “I insist. They’ll brighten up your desk.” 

Belle bit her lip, masking a smile. “Alright,” she agreed, taking the bouquet from him, her fingers brushing against his. “If you insist. But a gift for a gift. You give me flowers, I owe you tea.” 

“Tea?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Belle said with a nod. “I’ve got a nice assortment in my office and my break is in twenty minutes. Care to join me?” 

Gold’s brain had short-circuited. He knew an answer was required, but the idea of being alone with Belle in her office seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. At the same time there was no possible way he could say no. His mind rebelled at the very idea. 

“He’d love to,” David said, clapping him on the back. For a moment he’d forgotten the other man was there. “And I think I have everything I need here, so I’ll just check out and get out of your hair.” 

“Alright,” Belle said, taking the books from David’s outstretched hand and walking him back to the circulation desk. Gold followed them, his own hands conspicuously empty. 

He watched with pride as Belle fished a vase out from under her desk and arranged the peonies, setting them in pride of place before checking out David’s books. It was a matter of moments before David was all done, and headed to the front doors. He stopped by Gold’s side, leaning in closely.

“She likes you, man,” he whispered. “Just trust me. You’re in.” 

Gold swallowed thickly, watching as David left the library, giving him a wink over his shoulder. 

“Mr. Gold,” Belle said, pulling Gold’s attention back to her. “Would you like some tea?” 

“Yes,” Gold said, smiling in earnest. “That would be lovely.”

Belle nodded, blushing a fetching shade of pink as she motioned down the hall to her office. 

Maybe, by some strange twist of fate, she did like him after all. And to think he’d never have known if he hadn’t plucked up the courage to walk in to the library. 

God bless David Nolan. 

[lilacmoon83]

Clarity

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 13: Awkward Situation

"T...Tamara…" he uttered nervously and she made a display by siding up to him and pecking him on the lips.

"You left town so abruptly that I was worried. When you told me where you were...I decided to come find you," she said, as she looked around at the other people in the room.

"This is such a small town though...it wasn't even on the map. I think I just got lucky when I stumbled upon it," she added. Emma narrowed her gaze at that. She could sense a liar a mile away.

"Uh yeah...I was going to call you," he stammered.

"Well, I'm here now, so what's going on?" she asked.

"Well…I have a son. One that I didn't know about," Neal replied. Her eyes widened.

"A son?" she asked. He nodded.

"With who?" she asked.

"With me," Emma said, as she stepped forward.

"You?" Tamara asked, as her hackles seemed to go up.

"And you never told him?" she asked in an accusing tone. Emma opened her mouth to defend herself, but Neal beat her to it.

"Emma is my ex and about eleven years ago, she went to prison for something I did," he admitted.

"She went to prison, I took off, and she had a baby in prison. She couldn't keep him and gave him up for adoption. The Mayor of this town is actually our adopted son's mother," Neal explained. Tamara looked a bit shell-shocked by that.

"So...how did he find you?" she asked.

"He didn't...he found Emma first and then they happened to run into me in New York," Neal replied.

"That's a hell of a coincidence," she commented.

"Uh yeah…" he admitted.

"Okay...so how long are you going to be staying? We have a life in New York and we'll be getting married soon," she reminded him.

"Married?" Emma asked, as her eyebrows were in her hair and that admission made David and Mary Margaret exchange a worried glance.

"Yeah...Tamara is my fiancé," Neal said, in an uncomfortable tone. Emma was silent for a beat.

"I see," she replied.

"But I can't go back to New York right now," he said.

"Honey, I get that you have a son now, but what about our life there?" she asked.

"I have to stay. My son isn't happy with his adopted mother and my father thinks that if Emma and I file for custody against her...we can win," he replied.

"You're filing for custody together?" she asked in a sharp tone. He winced.

"We stand a better chance, even though we're not together. Emma was under duress when she gave him up and I didn't even know about him. A joint filing makes sense," Neal explained.

"I see...well, I support you and I guess I wouldn't mind taking some time off," she said.

"You don't have to do that. Honestly, we don't even have our first court date yet. This could take weeks...or longer," he replied.

"Well, I can at least stay a few days and then we can play it by ear," she said, as she kissed him and Emma looked away.

"So...when do I get to meet your son?" she asked and Emma wanted to claw her eyes out at that. Something inside her told her to keep this woman away from Henry. There was no way she believed that she just got lucky and found Storybrooke. Something was seriously off with her.

"Uh...well, his adopted mother is pretty pissed, but hopefully soon," Neal replied.

"Okay...well, should we go back to the Inn?" she asked.

"Actually...I need to talk to my father about some things. Can you go back and I'll meet you there soon?" he asked. She nodded.

"Your father? The one that abandoned you?" she asked.

"Yeah...it's complicated," he replied.

"Your father lives in the same town as your son's adoptive mother?" she asked skeptically.

"Like I said...this thing has a lot of moving parts," he replied.

"Okay…I'll see you later," she said, as she left the room.

"We need to talk," Emma snapped when she was gone and then stormed out of the room.

"Oh hell…" he complained, as he followed her, leaving Gold in the room with David and Mary Margaret.

"Well...that wasn't awkward or anything," David muttered.

"I miss being able to comfort Emma," Mary Margaret said and he squeezed her hand.

"I know...but I know she's going to let you in again, eventually," he promised.

"Meanwhile...we have a huge problem with an outsider in Storybrooke," Gold said.

"Yeah…I didn't think it was possible for people to come here from outside, except Emma," David recalled.

"It's not...unless you know what you're looking for," Gold said, as he looked at them. David and Mary Margaret exchanged a worried glance.

~*~

"Emma…" Neal started to say.

"You're engaged!?" she demanded to know.

"Yes...why does it matter?" he asked.

"We have a son! If you're going to be in Henry's life...that means she is too! I had a right to know!" Emma replied.

"You're right...and I wasn't hiding it. Things have just been nuts from the moment we met again in New York to now," he said and she couldn't really argue with that.

"Fine...but it doesn't make any sense how she found this place. I found it only because Henry guided me. Storybrooke isn't even on any of the road signs," Emma said.

"Yet you deny the book," Neal countered and she sighed, wanting to scream at him now.

"Don't change the subject. How did she even find this place?" she asked.

"I don't know! Tamara is resourceful," he replied and she rolled her eyes at that.

"Besides, if the book is bullshit, then why does it matter? It's not like this isn't just a normal town and it's not like my fiancé is dangerous or something," he added.

"Look...I know when someone is lying and she is," Emma accused.

"She's not lying...and I never bought that whole thing with your superpower," Neal replied.

"Since when?" she asked.

"Well, if you really can tell when people are lying...then are they lying?" Neal asked, as he gestured toward the room.

"That's not the same," she replied, with a sigh.

"Why? Are they lying?" he asked. She pursed her lips.

"Just because they believe what they are saying doesn't mean it's true," she replied. He snickered at that and shook his head.

"Right," he deadpanned.

"Okay...fine, I'll play your game. If the book is true...then ask yourself how bad it would be if people from outside did just start to roll into town. Even if she isn't lying or isn't a threat, she might tell others in passing about this quaint little town, hidden in the woods of Maine. So then this town becomes a tourist attraction and if this book is true and is somehow exposed...then it puts Henry in danger," she reasoned. He couldn't refute that, because he knew it was true. This town had secrets and though there was no magic to expose them, he never liked to take chances with people he cared about.

"I'll urge her to go back to New York, but she's going to get suspicious if I press her too hard," he said.

"Whatever...but that's not all we need to talk about," she replied.

"What else is there?" he asked.

"If we win against Regina...are you going back to New York? Are we really going to shuffle Henry back and forth?" she questioned.

"Why don't you just move back to New York with us?" he asked and she blanched.

"Because I have a life here...Henry has a life here," she replied.

"According to you...not really. I mean, what do you have here? If David and Mary Margaret aren't your parents and our son's grandparents...then you don't really have any ties here," he pointed out.

"But you do...your father," she countered. He snorted.

"Yeah...he'll be lucky if I visit him on holidays at this point. You may not believe anything in the book actually happened, but I lived it. He abandoned me in the worst way...and no, I'm not over it," he replied, as he walked away at that point to return to the Inn, leaving Emma alone in the hallway to ponder all the thoughts and emotions that had been stirred up that evening.

~*~

"You're quiet…" David mentioned, as he pressed a kiss to her hair. Gold had left and the nurse had lowered the lights in his room. The nurse had tersely offered a cot for her, but she refused and still remained cuddled against him in his hospital bed, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I was just thinking...I don't think Emma ever really got over Neal," she murmured.

"That makes sense...first love. I know I would never get over you. I just got lucky that I got to marry my first and only love," he whispered to her, which made her want to melt. He always knew exactly what to say to her.

"You're my first and only too," she replied, as she kissed him again, before they settled down and fell asleep in each other's arms

~*~

Regina angrily poured herself a glass of apple flavored liquor and took a big sip, letting the stinging liquid slide down her throat. After making sure Henry's window was locked from the outside, she was confident he was finally in his room, sleeping, leaving her to her own devices.

Any plans that had been in the works were now completely blown to hell by all the recent developments. She had planted all the right seeds to frame Mary Margaret for a crime. A crime committed by a jealous mistress against the wife of the man she was sleeping with. Harming Kathryn in any way had given her a moment of pause and that's why she had planned to go to Gold for help. He would help her with her plan for the right promise. But that option was gone now. Everything had changed. He could no longer be counted on as a shaky ally, for his son was the biological father of her son and he was now coming after custody of Henry.

David had divorced Kathryn and was now firmly with Mary Margaret. The town had still hated them, but the conflict between Kathryn and Mary Margaret had faded quickly with the divorce, as David clearly made his choice. But what was even worse now was that August had a story floating out there that she had helped Kathryn forge a marriage license that trapped the amnesiac David in a false marriage to keep him away from his true love, Mary Margaret Blanchard. The article painted Kathryn as the Mayor's lonely, browbeaten friend that agreed to go along with Regina's plot to keep them apart out of her hatred of Mary Margaret. She didn't know who this August W. Booth was and how he knew so much about all of them, but she didn't like it at all. Everything was completely screwed up and now she didn't know how she was going to fix any of it.

That's when she heard a knock at her door. She put her glass down and answered, only to find Kathryn there, looking miserable.

"I see you've seen that article," Regina said, as she let the blonde in.

"Yes...why would he write such a thing?" Kathryn wondered and that's when a thought struck Regina and she smirked evilly, before closing the door and turning to the other woman.

"It's quite simple, actually. This is Mary Margaret. Somehow, she convinced this reporter to write this monstrous article against us out of her hatred of us and her desire to keep her hooks in David," Regina said. Kathryn's eyes widened.

"You think so?" Kathryn asked.

"Absolutely...this is the woman that destroyed your marriage! And now she's trying to get the town to stop hating her by facilitating some outlandish story that she's David's true love? She is a lying, homewrecking little tramp and this cannot stand," Regina replied.

"But...what can we do? David chose her...he left me and he's with her," Kathryn said. Regina smirked deviously and turned to her.

"I have a plan...do you trust me?" Regina asked.

"Of course," Kathryn replied.

"Then leave everything to me and we'll make that little tramp pay for what she's done," Regina said vaguely, as a new plan formed in her head.

[searchingwardrobes]

Self-Promo Sunday: Everyone Needs a Mother

I was inspired to write this story after reading a novel called No Other Will Do by Karen Witemeyer. In it, the main character is an orphan (who reminded me a lot of Killian Jones, actually), and even as an adult with a good job, he sets aside food whenever he eats. This is actually more of a Snowing and in particular a Mama Snow story than Captain Swan, which is part of the reason I’m deleting it from Ao3. However, I still love the feels in this story and hope ya’ll do too!

Summary: Snow notices a habit that her daughter and her son-in-law share, and it breaks her mothering heart. So, like any good mother, she decides to do something about it.

Rating:G (though discussions of children going hungry could be a trigger for some)

Words: 1500 and some change

On Ao3 until 11/24/19

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells​​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​​ @kday426​​​​​ @let-it-raines​​​​​ @teamhook​​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​​​ @thislassishooked​​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​​  @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snidgetsafan​​​​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​​​ @distant-rose​​​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​​​ @optomisticgirl​​​​​​ @spartanguard​​​​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​​​ @stahlop​​​ @scientificapricot​​​

The first time Snow noticed the habit in Emma, they were friends and roommates, ignorant of the fact that they were actually mother and daughter. They were chatting over breakfast as Emma toasted a bagel, slathering one half with cream cheese. The other she wrapped in a napkin before racing out the door. Snow shrugged it off assuming Emma was just in a hurry and finishing her breakfast on the run. But the pattern continued. One pancake and the other to go, one sugar cookie from the booth on Miner’s Day and one slipped in the inside pocket of her leather jacket. Snow finally came to the realization that her friend squirreled away food. To test her theory, she made a huge breakfast one morning with all the works: pancakes, bacon, eggs, and toast. There was no way Emma could slip any of that in her pocket.

But she could wrap up the plate in aluminum foil and slip it in the fridge.

The first time she noticed Killian’s similar habit, she had other, more pressing matters on her mind. Like the shiny steel hook that had her jaw dropping as she pulled it from his satchel. She didn’t really have time to think about the half a hard-tack biscuit wrapped in a handkerchief at the bottom. Exactly half of the biscuit they had given him back at the camp when they thought he was just a blacksmith.

When life slowed down, Snow noticed Emma and her true love’s habit more and more. When Snow asked them over for dinner, they never finished their plates, always asking for Tupperware at the end of the evening for the leftovers. Every time they met for meals at Granny’s, Emma and Killian had to ask for a two-go box. When Regina jokingly asked why they didn’t just share a plate like Lady and the Tramp, the pair looked up with bewildered expressions. That was when Snow realized the habit was so ingrained, they didn’t even realize they were doing it.

She started watching them more closely. Killian was methodical, cutting a pancake precisely in half or running a spoon evenly down a mound of mashed potatoes. Even so, he did it on autopilot, often continuing in lively conversation as he dissected his meal. Though Emma was generally more haphazard about it, sometimes pausing before a bite, then lowering the food as she seemed to think better of it; she did count out her onion rings carefully, dividing them into two neat piles.

The refrigerator at the Jones house was packed with leftovers. When Snow commented on it to Henry, he had shrugged, eyes never leaving his video game.

“Our refrigerator in New York was the same,” he told her distractedly, “Walsh threw stuff out that had been in there for months.”

It was as if her daughter and her son-in-law were literally storing away food for the winter. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find a stock of canned goods in the shed like Doomsday Preppers. Except Emma and Killian seemed completely unaware of what they were doing.

The years rolled by and still Snow made no comment. Until her granddaughter came along and almost from the start became a food hoarder. On her second birthday, the child only finished half her slice of cake and asked, “Gamma, can I has some tuppa?” The same thing she heard her parents ask after every family dinner.

Things had gone too far, so she decided to talk it over with David. They were doing the dishes together one night, when Snow brought it up.

“David, have you noticed that both Emma and Killian only eat half of their food?”

David’s brow creased as he thought about it. “Yeah, I guess so,” then he chuckled, “that explains why they’re both so thin despite Emma’s junk food obsession.”

Snow frowned, her eyes narrowing, “It isn’t funny, David. It isn’t just that they only eat half; they save the rest for later.”

David sighed as he took in his wife’s expression. He dried his hands on the kitchen towel slung over his shoulder as he turned to her. “Honey, I know it worries you, but it’s just an old habit.”

“A habit they picked up as orphans,” Snow cried, “and before you say I’m jumping to conclusions, I asked Archie about it.”

David shrugged, “Well, that makes sense, they both spent many years unsure where their next meal was coming from. Even as adults, they had it rough. Emma admitted to you sleeping in her car was nothing new, and I’m sure pirates have lean times quite often.”

“But they don’t have to worry about that now. They have steady jobs, a roof over their heads, and even if they lost those things, they have a huge family and a town full of friends who would never let them go hungry.” Snow was pacing now, her anxiety rising. David stopped her with gentle hands to her shoulders.

“Like I said, sweetheart, it’s just a habit. Now that I’m thinking about it, I know that you’re right. But I also know that they aren’t even aware that they do it. It isn’t hurting anyone.”

Snow tilted her head up to scowl at her husband. “It’s hurting Hope. She’s picked up the habit. The other day I gave her two chocolate chip cookies, but right before she took a bite of the second one, she stopped. Asked me to wrap it up for her. Do you know what she said? Never know when the stores might get low.”

She saw David’s mouth twitch up and knew he was suppressing a laugh. “So Killian has taught her some sailor’s wisdom. Self-control and saving for later aren’t bad ideas, actually.”

Snow crossed her arms and stared at the floor for a moment in thought. Then she looked back up at her husband thoughtfully. “Maybe I should talk to them.”

David’s eyes went wide as he shook his head. “No, Snow, no! Do you know how embarrassed they both would be? And I know how you and Emma get when her days as an orphan come up.”

“What do you mean?”

David sighed deeply. “You start feeling guilty and then Emma feels bad for making you feel bad. It never ends well. Look. I know you want to mother them, but believe me, it’s best to drop it.”

Snow knew he was right, even as a frown marred her face. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest as he held her close. He kissed the top of her head, and her eyes slipped shut. Her husband’s words replayed in her mind. I know you want to mother them.

Snow’s eyes flew open and she smiled. That was it!

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

Snow tried to be subtle about it: an extra scoop of mashed potatoes, a larger roast for family dinners, a slightly larger slice of pie. She even got Granny in on it, convincing the woman to give Emma an order and a half of onion rings. Or at least she thought she was being subtle. Then Emma cornered her in the kitchen after a family dinner at the farm house.

“Okay Mom, what’s up?”

Snow schooled her features as she turned from the refrigerator to see Emma standing there with her arms crossed. Snow mimicked her, crossing her own arms and leaning back against the appliance. “What are you talking about?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about the obscenely large slice of chocolate cake you just served Killian.”

Snow laughed as she grabbed a cloth and began wiping down the counters. “Emma, he’s a grown man and a pirate. He can handle that much cake.”

“Please, Mom. You’re the world’s worst liar. I’ve noticed it for weeks now. The mountains of mashed potatoes, the extra-large roasts. And did you tell Granny to up my onion rings?”

Snow inwardly cursed as she felt heat rise to her pale cheeks. “Emma, you’re exaggerating.”

Her daughter arched an eyebrow and tapped her booted foot on the hardwood floor. “Mhm. Okay. What is it? Think we need fattening up? Worried we’re wasting away?”

Well, at least this Snow could answer honestly. She lifted her eyes to meet Emma’s. “Of course not, honey. You may be thin, but look at those arms of yours. I’ve seen you wrestle beasts, literally. And Killian may be slim, but I’ve seen those biceps when he actually takes off that leather jacket. You’re healthy as horses.”

A smile tilted Emma’s mouth, “You checking out my husband’s biceps, Mom?”

Snow laughed and flicked her daughter with the kitchen towel. “If I wanted to check out some hot biceps, I’d just admire your father with his shirt off.”

Emma’s nose crinkled, “Ew, mom, TMI!”

They both laughed for a minute or two, and then Snow came close and cupped her daughter’s face in her hands. “Can you trust me, Emma? You and Killian both went far too long without a mother, and I aim to fix that. Please?”

Snow could tell her daughter was trying valiantly to remain composed, but the sheen of tears in her eyes gave her away. Emma nodded then stepped from her mother’s embrace. Before turning to go, she shook the unshed tears away and flashed her mother a grin.

“I’m okay with that.”

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

At the next family dinner, Snow was filling up plates and passing them around the large dining room table in the farm house’s formal dining room. When she handed her daughter a loaded plate, Emma just winked and smiled at her mother. Then Snow added an extra scoop to Killian’s already massive mound of mashed potatoes, and handed him a plate as well.

The pirate winked at her as he accepted the heavy plate. “Thank you, Mother Snow.”

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (15/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/n: I’m currently writing the last official chapter of this story. How weird is that? I can’t believe it either...which is probably why it’s taking me forever to figure out the perfect way to end this story. Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for killing her eyes to read all of the words in this story 🥰

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |15 |

Tag list: @xellewoods @galaxyzxstark @eala-captian @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer

-/-

When Emma wakes up, she rolls over on her mattress and buries her face further into her pillow, kicking some of the extra throw pillows off the bed and wondering why the hell she has so many things that look cute but cannot be comfortably slept with.

Seriously.

This is all TJ Maxx’s fault, and she’d like to damn whoever decided to put a store in seven blocks from her apartment. She shouldn’t even go inside, but she does. Every. Single. Time.

(So maybe it’s a little bit her fault too.)

Finally, she finds a spot that’s comfortable, her eyes shutting and her body calming down into the softness of the mattress so that she can fall back asleep when her phone starts blaring, her alarm vibrating across the top of her bedside table, and for a moment, she considers throwing her phone out the window so that she never has to get up from bed.

She’ll get fired from her job. And probably die from bed sores or something else equally as dramatic.

It’s the first thought that has her rolling over and turning the alarm off, the shrill blaring sound going away, and her eyes have to squint at the bright light to recognize that it’s seven in the morning and she does actually have to get up for work right now.

Her job is great, but she doesn’t get weekends off like normal people. And noon games are her actual worst nightmare.

Today is a noon game. She’s also got that dinner with David, Mary Margaret, and Ruth, and she’s unnaturally nervous about it as she almost always is when it comes to Ruth.

Like a zombie, she rises from her bed and shuffles into the bathroom before making her way out to the kitchen, adjusting her shorts and the sweatshirt that she’s wearing as she stumbles into the kitchen, the smell of coffee already filling her nostrils.

“Bless you,” she mumbles to Ruby who is sitting at their kitchen table with a mug already in hand before she fixes herself her own cup, not even bothering for it to cool down much more before she takes a large sip. If only caffeine worked right away. That would be the dream. “Why do you already look so put together?”

“I always look put together.”

“Liar.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night, and when I woke up, I just kind of got up, I guess. And now I’m sitting here dying inside. At least I don’t look like I’m dying. A family of birds could live in your hair.”

“That is not true.”

“It is. Have you looked at yourself this morning?”

“Yes,” Emma lies, taking another sip of her coffee. She most definitely didn’t when she was in the bathroom, but as long as her tits aren’t showing, she doesn’t really care what she looks like at home. “And I haven’t gotten ready yet. I’ll look nicer for the game.”

“I would hope so. I don’t think that they let reporters not brush their hair and roll out onto the field in sweatshirts. Where’d you get that, by the way? I don’t recognize it.”

And while she may be half asleep and her coffee might not have an instantaneous effect, she knows that she fucked up.

She’s wearing Killian’s Vanderbilt sweatshirt. The one she keeps stealing. She’s had it in her possession for two weeks now, ever since Toronto and the morning after they slept together, and she’s been sleeping in it because it’s comfortable and kind of smells like Killian.

It definitely smells like Killian.

And Ruby can see her wearing it.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, no, no, no.

It’s instinct to cross her arms over her chest in an attempt to cover up the faded words all the while she tries to come up with some kind of excuse. She’s not sure that she’s ready for their friends to know about the relationship yet. A part of her definitely wants to say something, but she and Killian probably need to talk about it first.

But what if it somehow gets out past that?

What if someone besides their friends and family know? It’s too soon. It’s all too soon for that, and she just can’t right now. It’s the middle of the season, so much time left in front of them, and she can’t let anything jeopardize her career.

Emma has no idea what to do, and she’s terrified of everything crumbling beneath her.

This is the happiest she’s ever been in a relationship, and the repercussions…she doesn’t even want to imagine them.

“Uh, um,” she stutters to Ruby, making sure that her face isn’t giving away her lie, “I’m not sure. I must have swiped it from David’s house one day. You know how he’s always got sweatshirts from all over the place.”

Ruby’s eyes squint at her from over her coffee mug, and it takes everything in Emma not to bounce off the balls of her feet. All in all, it was a pretty good lie because David most definitely does have all kinds of sweatshirts from different professional teams and colleges, but this is not David’s sweatshirt.

How could she have been so careless?

Ruby is so damn observant, but there’s no way she can make the connection over a sweatshirt, right?

“I need to steal some stuff from him,” she finally sighs, going back to her coffee. “It looks so much comfier than the things Graham has. I swear, if it’s a scratchy material, he buys it.”

“At least it looks nice on him.”

“This is true, my friend. His clothes do fit him well, but you know I much prefer him without any.”

There’s a knock on the wall that’s connected to Ruby and Graham’s bedroom. “I can hear the two of you, and sweetheart, it’s too early for you to be making sex jokes about me to Emma.”

Emma has to put her coffee mug down on the countertop as she laughs, the giggles stemming from deep in her stomach. Graham is the best and usually goes along for Ruby’s antics, but sometimes it’s too damn funny when he’s asking her to stop talking.

Definitely an opposites attract pair, but they work. Really well, actually. Emma keeps waiting for Graham to tell her that he’s going to propose to Ruby, but it hasn’t happened yet.

She should probably get her own place if it does. How weird is it to live with a married couple? Like, an eight on a scale of ten? Maybe a little less when rent is so high. But definitely at least a five.

“I love you,” Ruby shouts back, knocking on the wall three times.

Graham simply knocks three times in response.

“You two are ridiculous.”

“I know, but I like to think that I bring out the ridiculous in everyone.”

“You do. What time do you want to leave for work?”

Ruby hums as she taps her chin with her perfectly manicured nail. “In an hour and a half?”

“Perfect.”

-/-

Late June in the Bronx is basically a blazing hellfire, and Emma keeps sneaking into the air-conditioned press box every chance she gets only to be sent back outside to do an interview with a player or a coach or even a kid who caught a foul ball. It’s a little ridiculous, but it’s her job so she sucks it up.

At least she’s not wearing a full-blown uniform and exercising like all of the guys are. Most of them are soaked in sweat, even the ones simply sitting in the dugout, and she does not envy them at all.

All she really envies right now are people taking a cold shower.

It’s late June. She doesn’t even want to imagine what it’s going to be like in August or September.

Killian throws another ball, and then there’s a smack of bat against ball and a white and red blur that shoots out into right field only for John Little to catch it, ending the top of the third inning and Killian’s time on the mound today. They’re all leaving for London in five days, and Al has expressly stated that they are not screwing up Killian’s arm for a game where so many people are going to be watching.

She knows that it’s more because they’re playing the Red Sox than anything else, but she doesn’t mind preserving Killian’s arm when they can. His pitches haven’t been averaging quite as fast as they usually are, but she figures it’s probably a tactical change. She’ll have to ask him about that in the locker room later.

The next two hours seem to idle by, nothing too exciting happening, and when the game is over, she moves from her press spot, flashing her ID to the guard in front of the entrance to the tunnels, and makes her way through the hallways she knows like the back of her hand until she’s in the clubhouse with Jeff following right behind her. It’s loud in there, cheers and yelling and celebrations over their win, and it takes her ten minutes before she can even get someone to talk to her, other reporters pretty much taking up everyone’s time as all of the players move into various states of undress.

“Don’t you ever get tired of talking to us?” Will asks with a cheeky grin as he brushes sweat off of his buzzed hair. “I mean, damn. I get tired of talking to us, and I actually think you may be around more than me.”

She chuckles, unable to help herself. She’s always loved Scarlet’s dry sense of humor, and he’s nearly as easy to talk to as Killian or Robin or even Eric. “To you, most definitely. But I have my favorites on the team that I like.”

“Doc? King? Locksley? Fisher? Jones? Whale? I could go all day.”

“I can’t tell you,” she teases, messing with her microphone in her hand. “You want to answer some questions for me today?”

“As long as it’s not about me getting engaged, I’m perfectly fine with that.”

“You’re engaged?” Emma gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “That’s so exciting! How did I miss that?”

“I have no idea since you talk to my girlfriend on Instagram.”

“Technically she’s your fiancée now.”

Will smiles at that a soft little thing that’s so unlike him and yet entirely him, and it makes her smile to herself. Will and Belle are getting married. That’s wonderful, but she did tell him she wasn’t going to ask about any of it, so she doesn’t, sticking to game stats and assessments and asking how he feels about their upcoming series in London. It’s the same with everyone she talks to, and after twenty minutes in there talking and chatting, she’s finished with her work and starts undoing all of the cords attached to her as Jeff turns off his camera and walks ahead of her as they leave the room.

But then there’s a strong grip around her wrist, and she’s being pulled away and down the hallway to what is a storage locker. If she didn’t know that it was Killian tugging her along, she’d assume she was being murdered.

She still could be and boy would that be a plot twist.

“What the hell?” she gasps out on a broken breath as the door closes behind her and all she can see is Killian’s face and shower-damp hair and a shelf full of cleaning supplies that make the entire room smell like bleach. “Why are you pulling me off into storage closets?”

He smiles, this really bright and cheesy thing, before strong hands are cupping her cheeks and soft lips and prickly scruff are brushing against her mouth and her chin in a slow, pleasant burn. This is how it’s been ever since Toronto two weeks ago. They slept together, and it was like this flip switched where they absolutely could not get enough of each other.

Not that she minds.

It’s electric. Honestly and truly. If they had easier access to each other, she knows that it would be even more intense, that they would be staying overnight and moving under the sheets until she couldn’t walk the next day. That actually almost happened last week, her body so sore afterwards, and as amazing as it was, that cannot be a frequent thing.

A girl has got to be able to walk.

She really, really likes Killian, is so close to loving him that it terrifies her, and sometimes she looks into his eyes and swears that if someone told her he hung the stars in the sky, she’d believe them.

This was never how any of this was supposed to go.

“Hi,” he growls, pulling at her upper lip before he pulls back so that their foreheads rest together.

“Hi,” she sighs as she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her and feeling the softness of his hair. “You played well today.”

“I was okay.”

“But in the second, you – ”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I do,” he promises, quickly brushing his lips over hers. “Have I mentioned how much I love that my girlfriend is an expert in my job?”

“Maybe a time or two, but this time it sounds slightly less macho man-ish.”

“That’s my goal.”

“Good.” Her stomach swoops at the smirk on his face, and she really wishes they were back at his apartment instead of in this stupid supply closet. “Why didn’t you tell me Will and Belle got engaged?”

“Because I legitimately didn’t know until right before the game. It apparently leaked or something, and he was all pissed about it. I think Belle posted the ring after it all to kind of beat out tabloids from making money off of them. They’re happy.”

“I would hope so. They’re getting married. People are usually pretty happy for that.”

“Eh, sometimes there’s those people who aren’t actually happy and think a new title and diamond ring will make them happy.”

“True.” Emma leans back against the door, the wood hitting the back of her skull, as she runs her fingers through Killian’s hair. It’s all long and messy again, and she honestly can’t decide which way she likes it best. “I do not want to deal with the crowd on the train getting out of here on the way to David’s.”

“I could drive you,” he offers with a shrug.

“Oh yeah, because that won’t at all be obvious. Also, I think we need to talk.”

“I’ve found that I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation when a woman tells me that.”

“Shut up, you ass.” She slaps the back of his head, but all he does is give her another cocky grin. So dumb. So, so dumb. “Okay, so, like, hear me out.”

“I have my listening ears on.”

“Yeah, little pointy ones.”

“Swan.”

“Okay, okay,” she mumbles, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth as she bounces on her toes. “I’m not – I’m not one hundred percent sure on this, especially with what I just found out about Will and Belle, but I think it might be time we told my friends and your family about us. Just a few people, the ones we trust the most, because I’m starting to slip up on where I’ve been or who I’m talking to when they ask. Also, I feel really shitty every time I lie to Ruby or David or Mary Margaret or someone else who is my friend.”

His lips are parted, mouth gaping open, and he’s blinking at her like she’s a crazy person. She might actually be.

“W-what? Are you serious?”

“I’m serious about us thinking about it. I’m still not completely sure on the entire thing. I think, maybe when we get back from London, we can have another conversation about it. I like to think this is going pretty well, and while I don’t want our relationship to escape us or our families, I don’t think we can keep doing this without telling the people we love.”

Killian’s brows furrow, his eyes thin lines beneath them, and his hands finally dip from her cheeks down to her shoulders with his nails digging into her skin over her freckles. “Let’s think on it, yeah? Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than thrilled that you feel confident and happy in us enough that you want to tell people, but I don’t want to expose you even more to the world. Because in our circles of people, love, it’s going to be a big deal that we’re dating.”

He’s right. She knows that he is. She’s had the same thoughts.

“I know. We’ll figure it out though, right?”

“Absolutely.” Killian squeezes her shoulders once more before dipping his head down and gently slanting his lips over hers in quick succession. “Now, as much fun as I’m having inhaling all of these chemical fumes, I think you have somewhere to be.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Emma, love,” he says tenderly, thumbing at the indent in her chin as he smiles that reassuring smile at her, “you’re going to be fine. It’s your family. You love them. I know you do. And you’re going to be reminded of that the moment you get comfortable sitting on David’s couch and relax into dinner.”

Right once more.

“Okay, okay,” she exhales, pulling in Killian for a hug so that she can bury her face in his shoulder and breathe him in instead of the chemical fumes for a moment, “I can do this.”

-/-

Killian was exactly right like she knew he was but didn’t like to admit outside of her head. She was building up the awkwardness, building up the strained relationship with Ruth like she always does, and while it wasn’t the best thing at first, now that she’s sitting crisscrossed on David’s couch with a glass of wine in her hand, she can think of few other places she’d rather be.

This is her family, even when she doesn’t admit it, and for a girl who never really got to have a family until she was too messed up to truly accept one, this is absolutely everything.

Just…everything.

“And then, Grandma,” Leo continues, walking back and forth through the room, “Captain America holds his shield up while the bad guys try to attack him, but he’s too fast for them.”

“This Captain America sounds like a cool guy,” Ruth laughs, very obviously confused about the whole thing. She has not caught onto the Marvel bug, which is pretty much a sin when Leo has been obsessed with Captain America for months. Mary Margaret and David say it’s the longest he’s ever been interested in one thing, and when Emma thinks about it, she believes it. “Do you think you’re going to be as strong as him?”

“Probably not,” Leo shrugs, “but he started off really small like I am so maybe if I’m tall like Dad and not short like Mom.”

“Hey,” Mary Margaret protests, her eyes cutting at her son while Emma and David snicker underneath their breaths, “I am not that short.”

“Mom, I’m ten, and I’m almost taller than you when you’re, like, seventy years old.”

“Leo David Nolan, I am not seventy years old. I’m thirty-nine. Don’t age me like that.”

“What’s wrong with being nearly seventy years old?” Ruth teases, and Mary Margaret’s pale cheeks immediately flush red.

“Nothing, nothing. I – ”

“I’m nearly teasing you, sweetheart,” Ruth sighs before turning her attention to Emma. “I watched your game today. You looked so beautiful, but why are they still showing you eating every time?”

Well, damn, she didn’t know that was still happening, so she takes another sip of her wine and rolls her eyes as she laughs. “I have no idea. Like, it’s a running joke at this point. You can literally google ‘Emma Swan eating’ and all of these videos pop up. Leo told me that they even add songs to them now.”

“They do,” David chuckles. “I showed him those.”

“You’re awful.”

“I actually think I’m pretty awesome.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Look, Grandma,” Leo laughs, taking Mary Margaret’s iPad over to Ruth, “here’s one of the ones with music. It’s so funny!”

“You guys are the worst,” Emma groans as she places her glass down and sinks into the couch. “The absolute worst.”

“You just seem to have a face for funny moments,” Mary Margaret says sympathetically, reaching over to pat her thigh. “It’s because you do a little dance when you’re eating good food, I think.”

That makes her smile. It’s always what Killian is saying about her when he’s teasing her over her eating habits, and that’s when she suddenly remembers that hat that she still hasn’t given to Leo. It’s been sitting in the bag she carries with her to and from games for weeks now, and she keeps forgetting to give it to the kid. He may still like Captain America, but he’s probably moved on to another favorite player.

Quickly, she gets up from the couch and walks to the entryway where she left the bag, shuffling through it until she pulls out the signed hat, and then holds it behind her back, a genuine smile curling on her lips.

“Leo,” she sing-songs, immediately getting his attention as his brown hair falls across his forehead, “if you stop showing Grandma weird videos of me online, I have a surprise for you.”

“Way to bribe my kid,” David whines without much conviction.

“It’s not a bribe. Not technically.”

“What do you have?” Leo gasps, taking the iPad away from Ruth. “What is it? What is it?”

God, to have the enthusiasm of kids. Life would be so much simpler. And happier probably.

She’s pretty happy now anyways.

Slowly, she pulls the hat around from behind her back, and Leo’s brows furrow in confusion. Of course they do. To him, it probably just looks like a random hat since the autograph can’t really be seen.

“A Yankees hat? I have a couple of those already.”

“Leo,” Mary Margaret and David say at the same time.

“It’s fine, guys,” she laughs, stepping a little closer. “Remember when you asked me if I could get you a hat signed by Killian Jones?”

Now Leo’s face lights up, a bright smile practically taking up all of it, and he runs to her and immediately wraps his arms around her waist in a hug so tight that she loses all of the air in her lungs.

“Thank you,” he sighs before releasing her and taking the hat out of her hands, staring down at for a moment only to put it on top of his head. It’s too big for him without being adjusted, but he doesn’t even care.

She feels like the coolest aunt in the world right now.

“You’re the coolest aunt in the world.”

Ah, so confirmation then.

“Killian Jones is the man who asked you out, right?” Ruth questions, and Emma has to bite her tongue as she moves to resume her place back on the couch. She wishes she had more wine, but she’s got to be up early again tomorrow and doesn’t need more to drink. “You’re still talking to him?”

“I mean, only for my job,” she lies. “He’s a nice guy, so he was really happy to sign something for Leo.”

Ruth nods her head, and Emma thinks that it’s the end of the conversation when it’s most definitely not. “So, are you dating anyone, dear? I don’t mean to pry, but I do like to know about your life and you’re much more difficult to get information about than David.”

“That’s because Mary Margaret can’t keep a secret.”

“Why am I feeling so attacked right now?” Mary Margaret laughs.

“Well, you can’t, honey,” David says to his wife. “You are the worst at keeping secrets, and you overshare all the time.”

“That seems like a bit of an exaggeration.”

“It’s really not, Marg,” Emma tells her before turning back to Ruth. “I’m not dating anyone right now,” she lies again, more guilt building up in her stomach, but she and Killian are going to talk about it after London when they’re not in a storage closet, “but I’m really happy. Things at work are going well, even if I’m busy, and I love all of my friends and family and how much time I’m getting to spend with them. But if something on the dating front seriously changes, I’ll let you know.”

Ruth winks at her, a smile on her face. “Well, I don’t believe that for a second.”

Emma stays there for the rest of the night, all five of them eating and watching movies with talking in between. Leo insists that Ruth get caught up on anything and everything Captain America, and even though she falls asleep during several of the movies, she does learn a little bit more, making sure to ask all of the right questions. She’s so good with Leo, with everyone really, and it reminds Emma of when she was a terrified fifteen-year-old moving into a new foster home not knowing what was going to be awaiting her.

For someone who was so unloved and never thought she’d find love, living with Ruth Nolan was a shock to her system. She hates that her own walls and issues kept her – keep her – from always accepting that love and genuine kindness, and she hates that she let Neal influence her to not believe that Ruth was her family.

She is.

Most definitely in every way, and this is going to be something that Emma works on. She’s very much determined to do so.

Her life is a good one, and despite how complicated it is sometimes, she deserves to be happy in as many ways as possible.

When the movies are finished and Emma is ready to go home and go to bed, she whispers words of goodbye to everyone, promising to come over again for dinner tomorrow and to bring Ruby and Graham with her since they are always itching for an invitation.

“It’s so good to see you, darling,” Ruth sighs into her hair as they hug goodbye. “I love you.”

Emma nods her head against Ruth’s neck, a smile on her lips. “I love you too.”

[justanotherwannabeclassic]

Ready, Set, Please Don’t Go

Killian Jones walks in on his daughter in a compromising position, leading to the realization that his little girl really is growing up.

Author’s Note: Here's another snippet set in the Finding Neverland universe. It's absolutely unnecessary to read Finding Neverland to understand this story, though readers of the original my remember a "library incident" mentioned in a chapter of this story. hat being said, this turned out way different than I expected it to go, which is the best/worst part of writing fic. I hope you all enjoy! Also, this story is dedicated to the wonderful @distant-rose, who is amazing and wonderful and a fantastic friend.

Rating: M (strong language and sexual situations)

[AO3]

XXXXXX

It starts with an admission of a high school tryst.

They’re back in Storybrooke, making the most of a long weekend away from work and research. There’s a festival going on, because somewhere over the near thirty years of the town’s existence, they’ve embraced celebrating. Juliet’s grandmother says it’s because everyone learned all too well how easy it is to lose everything. Whatever the reason, Juliet is fond of the fact that she gets to wander around various booths with his fingers twined around her boyfriend’s and enjoying the familiarity of coming home.

Juliet likes to think she’s come a long way since she was the girl who left Storybrooke for New York City four years ago. She has a degree and a license that actually says she’s twenty-one, but it’s more than that. She likes to think she’s matured, and though she has no inclinations of returning back to her hometown anytime soon, she now embraces the coziness of it all. And, well, the girl of four years ago never would have imagined holding hands with Gideon Gold as they traipsed down Main Street, happy and deliriously in love. 

They’d only been in the same school for a year, her a freshman and he a senior, but he Juliet Jones of Storybrooke High hadn’t been particularly kind to Gideon. She’d been a little too conscious of their respective places in the high school caste system. Even as a freshman, she’d been fawned over by her classmates as a member of the Charming family, The Savior’s daughter, and Henry’s sister. The son of the Dark One didn’t warrant the same favor. It was only once they were both in New York, she starting at Columbia and him finishing up his degree at NYU, that they’d begun to forge a closer relationship, and later, a romantic one.

She supposes his loner nature and her role as the school’s “princess” only furthers the cliche nature of their relationship. When they had made it public they were dating, Neal had monologued the opening lines of Romeo and Juliet.  (“Two families both alike in dignity, in fair Storybrooke we build our scene…” “I hope you realize this means you die too, asshole.”) They might as well add the damn John Hughes movie to the list.

But it doesn’t matter. They’re happy, in love, and openly together in Storybrooke.

They’re in line for cotton candy, Gideon whispering into her ear about the unhealthiness of eating pure sugar, when they bump into old friend hers from high school, Viola. It’s not unexpected. Most people don’t leave Storybrooke or choose to come back to Storybrooke, after all, and they exchange pleasantries.

“How are you liking the big city? I don’t think I could deal with that many people. The traffic alone…”

“That’s what the MTA is for,” Juliet replies with a laugh. To be honest, her friendship with Viola had been one that drifted after she left for Columbia. It was one that Juliet now realizes was born out of proximity and not very many common interests. “But, seriously, it’s great. We’re really happy.” She flashes a grin up Gideon.

He returns her grin with one of his own. God, she loves his smile. “I dunno, I’m pretty damn miserable.”

“A miserable liar, maybe.” Juliet turns her attention back to Viola, who is watching them with an incredulous expression. Maybe this isn’t what Viola expected of the Juliet of four years ago. Maybe it’s not what she would have expected either. Knowing the conversation will only grow more stitled from there, Juliet focuses on what Viola clearly wants her to notice. With exaggerated excitement she doesn’t feel, she asks, “Holy shit! Is that a ring?”

Viola waves her left hand, where a diamond sits. “Yes, Aidan proposed! You’ll have to come back up for the wedding. We’re thinking next April.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” To be honest, Juliet hadn’t known Viola was even dating Aidan.   Oh well. Thankfully, they’re saved from more conversation by the cotton candy. They bid their farewells, and go their separate ways.

“Are we seriously going to go her wedding?” Gideon asks once they’re far enough out of earshot. He steals a bite of her cotton candy -- the hypocritical bastard -- before saying, “I wouldn’t really mind, but I only have the vaguest idea of who she is.”

“God, no,” Juliet replies, instantly regretting how mean she sounds. But, she has a reason. “Honestly, even if we had said more than ten sentences to each since graduation, it would be a little awkward. The last time I saw Aidan, he’d just finished fingering me in sci-fi section of the library. It’s weird to go to the wedding of guys you hit third base with, right?” She shudders at the memory.

Gideon stops abruptly. “Wait, what?” He looks surprised, and honestly, a little annoyed.

“Oh, God, please don’t turn this into a thing.” Gideon unfortunately has a slight jealous streak when it comes to her. It’s not overbearing, thankfully, but it’s present enough to annoy her every now and then. She attributes it mostly to his low self-esteem brought by half the town assuming he’s turn evil as an adult coupled with the way she’d dated every guy but him the year leading up to them finally getting together. She understands where he is coming from, really, but she doesn’t have to like it.

“I’m not turning this into a thing. That’s not it, not entirely,” he amends. “But, seriously, the library?”

“Oh, this is about defiling books .”

He laughs, almost hysterically. “Not quite, no.”

“Then what is it?” She takes a bite of the cotton candy, and delights in the way his eyes track the movement of tongue as she traces her lips for any errant sugar.

He begins to lead her away from the crowd, and his voice lowers. “Remember that time we listed our fantasies?”

She hums in reply. She remembers it well, and still benefits from it too.

“Let’s just say teenage Gideon would have killed to be fingering a pretty girl in the library.” His cheeks are an enjoyable shade of red. He’s always a little embarrassed when talking publicly about sex. Back when they were ‘just friends’, his exploits were something that rarely ever came up, even though she’d been less discreet about hers.

“And what about adult Gideon?”

“What about adult Gideon?”

“It’s after six. The library is closed, and you have a pretty girl who is just about to finish her cotton candy and will soon be wondering just what she can be getting up to later.” She quirks her brow for emphasis. “So what would adult Gideon say we do?”

She’s always been a bit reckless. She enjoys the rush of adrenaline, and sees caution as a suggestion. Gideon’s her opposite in that regard, which is why she can’t contain her gleeful laugh as he more or less drags her to the library at a half-jog. She knows she could magic them there, but this gets her heart pounding in a way that magic does not.

In no time at all, they’re in the library — she bites back a laugh at his attempts to unlock the door — and her back is against the wall as Gideon’s mouth fuses to hers. It’s times like these where she wishes she had gotten over herself enough for them to come together sooner. As much as Gideon had been quiet about his sexploits, he’d picked up some skill. And where he lacked, he certainly made up by being a quick study. “You’re amazing,” he tells her. He lifts his hand, and brushes he strand of hair behind her ear. She leans into his palm.”Do I tell you that enough?”

“You do.” She runs her hands over the front of his shirt, and begins to toy with the buttons. With a teasing smirk, she adds, “Though, to be fair, you mostly tell me when I’m in a state of undress...or about to be.”

“I’ll be sure to rectify that...later.” She squeals when he pulls away from her, only to lift her into his arms. He quickly maneuvers them to the collections desk, and drops her on top of it. Goosebumps form over her skin as his hands span up her bare thighs, and she relishes in the way his warm breath fans across the skin of her face. “This okay?”

“It’s totally okay.” Any other quips she might think to say are lost when he lips close over the most sensitive spot on her neck, sendling shocks of pleasure down her spine. She gasps, her hands carding through his hair as she tilts her neck for easier access. His hands skate over her shorts and work their way under her shirt. Her skin burns hot as his palms burn over the smooth expanse, and she sighs.

They break apart long enough for both of them to remove their shirts. She thinks he breaks a button in his eagerness to remove his top, but she doesn’t mind in the slightest, enjoying the sight of shirtless male in front of her. He’s not incredibly muscular, but he’s toned enough -- and god, his collarbones. She pays particular attention to that part of his body first, eagerly nipping. As she leans forward, his hand slip over her ass, pulling her closer and squeezing as he goes. They move together, their pants dulling the sensation and doing nothing to hide his ardor for her.

She loves the power that comes with sex, the thrill of slowly making her partner come undone -- and that is what drives her next course of action. After all, she knows of know better way to make a man come undone. He groans when she pulls away, the brokeness bringing a smile to her face. She places a finger against his lips as she dismounts from the desk. He nips at the pad of her index finger as she reverses their positions. “What are you planning?”

“Something that will blow teenage Gideon’s mind.”

Juliet drops to her knees.

  -/-

  There are sacrifices one makes for their children.

Some are small, like the last piece of pie. Others are larger sacrifices, such as dedicating everything you can in you to ensuring your child has the best life. Killian Jones, of course, makes these sacrifices willingly, and most of the time, happily.  Ever since the day that the doctor placed a squawking infant -- his daughter -- into his arms, Killian Jones knew that he’d do everything in his power to make her smile. Decades later, he likes to think he’s done a decent enough job. Juliet is happy and healthy, and has the confidence to leave the comfort of Storybrooke and chart a course of her own. And, despite her being an adult, he’ll continue doing what he’s able to ensure her happiness.

However, there are some sacrifices that try his patience -- such as being friendly with the Crocodile.

Over the course of two decades, he and the Dark One have kept their distances. They’ll be cordial at functions that they’re both in attendance, and he’ll never disparage the man around Belle. He values his friendship with her too much for that. Truthfully speaking, over the years, no one has ever truly required them to go out of their way to be in the same place.  

Ah, but then his daughter fell in love with the Dark One’s son, and expectations had been formed.  

“I know you all have bad blood, but can you at least try? For me?” Juliet had asked him. He can’t blame her for doing such a thing. He’d shield her from much of his history with the Crocodile. She knows enough -- he remembers with stunning clarity the afternoon he’d explained to her, just five and infinitely curious, why the name ‘Milah’ was tattooed on his wrist -- but both he and Emma had intentionally agreed to leave out the gorier details of his life. Her basic knowledge cannot compared to the memories of living in the thick of it all.

Which is why, shortly after Juliet had made that request of him, he had mused to Emma in the comfort of their own bed, “Perhaps they’ll break up.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon. This one’s different,” Emma had replied, and that much they knew to be true. Killian had seen that boys that had captured Juliet’s interest over the years -- all of them unworthy of her, in his opinion -- and it’s true that this one felt different. “Besides, if things do go south, you don’t want that heartbreak for her.”

“No, you’re right,” he’d replied. He remembers pulling Emma closer to him, and whispering in her hair, “I’m beginning to understand your father’s perspective a bit more when you began courting me.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

And it is because he doesn’t want to make life harder for his daughter -- he knows well enough the benefits of a smooth relationship with the in-laws -- Killian puts on his best smile and acts even friendlier with the Crocodile. Though they’ve never explicitly discussed the matter, Killian suspects that Gideon had made the same request of his own father, as the Crocodile has not made one snide comment or appeared surprised at whatever warming relationships they might have.

Belle, at the very least, seems happy about the turn of events. And he can’t deny that Gideon is a good young man, a far cry from the tortured soul who had attempted to kill Emma decades ago. (Killian still has nightmares of their wedding night, of watching the sword drive into Emma’s gut.) But he can’t hold that against Belle’s son. He’d be hypocritical at best, especially considering the respectable person he’s since grown into. Besides, there’s no denying that Gideon looks at Juliet like she’s the moon and stars, and his daughter is quite happy with him.

Which, unfortunately, means he’s on a quest with the Crocodile to retrieve a box of books from the library for a booth at the festival. They library had been going through the process of culling its selection, weeding out extra copies of no longer popular tomes so there would be space for current interests. Belle had concocted a plan to set up a booth to give away the books, and had asked Killian and her husband to fetch a couple of boxes she’d left behind.

He honestly thinks this is a plan of Belle’s to get the two of them to talk more, to further bury the hatchet at the request of their children. The Dark One certainly has the power to poof the boxes. (He has made an effort to use magic less over the years, something Killian will not complain about.) She might have also asked Emma for help, but he’s pretty sure his wife is also in on the scheme.

In the effort of trying , he and the Dark One -- Gold -- exchange in small talk, but it is stilted and awkward. Which is possibly why the conversation dovetails into talking about their children, an easy topic for any proud parent.

“Gideon tells me that Juliet graduated cum laude? I’ll have to extend my congratulations to all of her hard work.”

“Aye. She did excellently. Emma and I are quite proud.” He already has a picture from her graduation day of the three of them sitting on the mantle -- Juliet clad in her regalia, smiling broadly while flanked by her parents. Gideon had been the one to take the picture. “I imagine you are too, with Gideon studying to be a doctor.”

“We are.” The Crocodile’s expression morphs into one that Killian knows all too well -- the sort of look one gets when they can’t quite believe they had a part in raising someone good. “It’s astounding to think that he’ll be completing medical school next year. It seems like yesterday he was just learning to walk.”

“I know the feeling all too well.” He hates how much he relates to Gold at the moment. Emma has occasionally commented how fatherhood has mellowed them both over the years, but Killian doesn’t want to bond over it. The things we do for our children.

But, at the same time, he cannot deny that Gold is wrong. Killian Jones has lived hundreds of years, but none have passed by as quickly as those since Juliet’s birth. In what feels like the blink of an eyes, she’s gone from being a wee babe to a child to a teenager and now an adult. Hadn’t it been just yesterday that she had been stumbling over her consonants as he taught her how to read?

“Those nights when she would keep Emma and I up all night, I remember wishing that time would pass quickly. Now I find myself wishing I could turn back the time and go back.”

“After what happened with my sorry excuse of a mother, I learned not to take any time with Gideon for granted,” Gold replies darkly.

Killian’s first reaction is to consider it a slight, an implication that he somehow has taken his daughter’s childhood for granted, but his cooler head prevails. He recalls how scarred Belle had been during the mess with the Black Fairy, and how even after Gideon back she had barely left him out of her sight. If the same thing had happened to Juliet…

It’s a thought that kept him awake many nights during Emma’s pregnancy. Storybrooke and normal pregnancies or childbirth rarely went hand-in-hand back in those days, and certainly not for their family. He’d be plagued by nightmares full of villains from his past -- men he’d crossed or wronged -- sneaking into his home and doing harm to his child with him unable to save her.

They’d been lucky, with Juliet. She’d been safe and sound. There had been villains since then, but she’d been mostly safe. Nothing like what Gold and Belle had gone through with Gideon, or David and Snow with Emma. For once, Killian Jones had been the blessed one. He tries not to let himself forget it.

He and the Crocodile don’t talk much after that, not until after they’ve worked their way through the crowd and arrive at the library.  

“Where did Belle say she left the boxes?”

“By the circulation desk.” Gold pulls the keys to the library out of his pocket before he suddenly stops. Killian glances over the other man’s shoulder to see why, before noticing the slightly ajar doors. By Killian’s estimation, it seems as someone had simply let the door close behind them, not realizing that they hadn’t shut completely. “I know I locked this earlier.”

“It’s not the first time someone has broken into the library. Probably some horny or drunk youths looking for a quiet space and a good time.” How many times had he or Emma busted people sneaking into the library for a good time over the years? It’s turned into almost a rite of passage amongst the teens. Though he understands the thrill of breaking-and-entering, Killian doesn’t quite understand why the library is the chosen location. He’s crossed Belle enough times to know that is a spectacularly bad idea. “They probably thought the festival would be a good distraction.”

“And now they’re about to find themselves caught by the Dark One and Captain Hook. I almost pity them.”

Killian highly doubts that this is what any of the women is his life hoped for when it came to bonding with Gold. This certainly isn’t what he envisioned, but he’ll take it. Terrible as it might be, he takes certain enjoyment in knowing just how terrified whomever is in there will be when they realize just who they’ve been caught by. Quietly, Gold pushes open the library door and they creep inside the building. Once inside, they can clearly hear low moans and the slick sound of--

“Oh fuck---ohmygod!”

  -/-

  Juliet is hiding. She’s admittedly doing a poor job of it, because her hiding place is the back porch swing of her childhood home. In her defense, no one had been home when she’d come back. Now, however, the lights are one and she can hear the obscured voices of her parents. (She can barely make out the words “shower” and “tired”, if she strains.) Thankfully, they haven’t come to look for her. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to look at her father in the eyes again. She’s already formulating a plan for sneaking out before breakfast -- or maybe pretending to sleep until after he leaves for work.

Until she is sure her parents have convalesced themselves upstairs, she’ll continue hiding outside on the back on the back porch swing -- how many summer nights did she spend out here growing up? She had attempted to distract herself from her complete and utter mortification by attempting to read, but the exploits of Natasha Rostova weren’t enough to ebb away her embarrassment. Now, she just sits and stews, swaying back and forth on the swing.

She wishes Gideon were here. After a minor freakout --

“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Worse than that time you got stabbed in Agrabah?”

“Yes! I got healed from being stabbed! My dad caught be going down on my boyfriend. How do you come back from this?”

-- she and Gideon had decided to go their separate ways for the rest of the night. The mood had effectively been killed, and they had already agreed to spend the night at their respective childhood homes . She now wishes he were here, however, if only to give her a hug and share the mortification together. The text messages from him, of which there are many, are hardly sufficient. Besides, she hardly even wants to look at her phone anymore, not since she made a mistake of telling Neal, who has sent her three texts that consist of “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” written over ad nauseum . Jerk.

Beyond embarrassment, she’s also incredibly disappointed in herself. The Juliet of four years ago had never been caught involved in illicit acts. Had she been caught vomiting into a bush after a night of underage drinking? Sure, but at least she’d been clothed and not hooking up with anyone. Has she fallen so far? Has living in New York eroded her sense in Storybrooke? The Juliet of four years ago would have insisted to sneak deeper into the library to fool around.

One thing’s for sure: I am never doing this in Storybrooke again.

She picks up her book again, and thumbs to the dog-eared page. Her adamant refusal to use a bookmark drives Gideon up the walls -- “Books are sacred, J.” The thought of him, and his exasperation, warms her heart and she makes a note to call him once she’s sure her parents are asleep. Slinking further into the swing, she attempts to read a bit more. It’s a mostly futile effort, and she’s about to give up when she is startled by the creak of the back door porch opening. She winces when she sees her father slide through.

“Hi.”

“Hullo, Cygnet.”

Juliet readjusts herself in the swing, swinging her legs to the ground so that he could sit beside her. She doesn’t meet his eyes when he sits down. She takes a deep breath, bracing for whatever lecture is bound to come, wishing he had somehow gotten the memo that this was something that they weren’t going to talk about. She had hoped that she and Gideon had gotten off the proverbial hook in that regard when her father and Mr. Gold had disappeared immediately after catching them, but apparently not.

“I’m guessing you’re not coming out here because you wanted to see the stars?”

“It’s a touch too overcast for that tonight, darling,” he replies, and there’s humor in his voice, but it is strained. God, this is the worst. “I wished for us to have a chat, not matter how awkward it might be.”

“Or we could pretend it never happened. I prefer that option.”

“When you were a toddler, you preferred to not wear clothes, so you stripped yourself in the middle of Granny’s, waving your dirty diaper as a victory flag. And yet your mother and I still dressed you,” her father replies, and he has the audacity to wink at her.

“Okay, that is so not fair.” It’s a story she’s heard maybe a hundred times by this point, but it makes her cringe every time. Why was she such an awkward child?

“I’ve learned from experience that life, unfortunately, isn’t fair.”

“Now you’re getting angsty,” she says. She’s being difficult. Juliet knows this, but she really doesn’t want to talk about whatever if on her father’s mind. She already feels terrible enough. “Dad, seriously, can we just forget today ever happened?”

“Trust me when I say I do, and after you and I have a chat, we can.”

“Dad, I’m an adult. We were just being dumb, okay?” Juliet feels like a teenager again, getting caught after staying out past curfew. But, to be fair, this is perfectly in character for her father. Years ago after a party, he’d caught her stumbling around clearly drunk. The next day he’d given her a lecture about the importance of staying safe while inebriated. “We’ll be more responsible from now on. Trust me when I say that no one involved wants a repeat of that. Ever.”

“That’s good. That’s good.” He runs his hand through his hair. “That’s not what I want to discuss.”

“Oh.” They sit like that for a moment, listening the sound of summer bugs and the creak of the swing swaying back and forth. When their respective awkward silence feels unbearable, Juliet asks, “So what did you want to talk about then?”

“As you’ve mentioned you’re an adult, and I have no bearing on telling you what you can and cannot do.” He takes a deep breath and looks up. “But now that you’re an adult, you are making adult choices and are finding yourself in adult situations.”

“Mom already gave me the sex talk in high school.” Her mother had been incredibly thorough with the sex talk, no doubt influenced by her own harrowing experience with teenage pregnancy. While she had done an excellent job discussing the different forms of birth control, Juliet had walked away so scarred by everything else that she’d done everything but penetrative sex until she had started college for fear of getting pregnant before her finishing her high school degree. “I know how to be safe. We’ve been tested. I have an IUD.”

Juliet winces at her explanation. Even though she’s veering into TMI territory -- her father knowing her current form of birth control does not top the ‘need to know’ list -- she wants to express to him that the earlier encounter had been a bit of fun and that she’s actually a responsible adult when it comes to these things.

“I’m glad you are aware of those things.” He runs his hand through his hair again. It’s also something Juliet does when she’s stressed. Both her mother and Gideon have commented on it. Unsure if it is a nature or nurture thing, she chalks it up to simply being Killian Jones’ daughter. “I just also want you to be aware that just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you have to if you. If you ever feel uncomfortable doing something, you can say no. You don’t need to...you don’t need to consent to an action simply because your partner--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Gideon didn’t force me into doing anything. Holyshit, he’s not that kind of guy. I’m the one-- it was my idea, okay? He’s not some creep who would force me into that. This is not the time for that PSA.” Juliet pushes herself from the swing, turning to face her father. She’s angry and hurt and how could he even imply…? “Is it because of what we were doing? Newsflash, Dad, women can like giving head. Women can like sex. And I know this might be hard to hear, but I like sex. What you walked in on? That was me doing what I enjoy doing with my partner.”

To call her furious would be an understatement. She wonders how her father could even think that about Gideon. Gideon, who is the nicest person she knows. Gideon, who is so afraid of everything thinking he’s just another villain because of his last name. The implication that he would be the one forcing her, or that she would be so easily coerced boils her blood. And for it to come from her father?

She turns to leave -- to where, she doesn’t know -- but her father is up in an instant and following her. He gently takes hold of her arm, stopping her at the door. “Juliet, sweetheart, wait.”

“What, so you can imply my boyfriend is some asshole who forces me into sex?”

“No, so I can better explain what I was trying to say,” he tells her. Juliet doesn’t move at first, but he gradually leads her back to the swing. “It was not my intention to imply at Gideon was that sort of man. I honestly don’t think he is. I was talking about relationships the in general and not him specifically.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m doing a train on the hockey team.” Her father winces. She thinks it serves him right. “I’m kind of a big believer in monogamy.”

“That’s...that’s something. But even with the people we love, it’s easy for us to feel like we should do things that we normally wouldn’t want to do. And I don’t mean this situation specifically, but in relationships as a whole. I want you to know that it’s okay to say no,” he says gently. “You don’t ever have to do something you don’t want.”

“Again, I wanted to.”

“So you said.” He bites his lip and looks down. “I also want you to know that if you want to do something that your partner doesn’t, you should respect their decision, as well.”

“I know.”

“It’s easy to say when you’re not in the situation. And if you think your desires outweigh their own. And I’m not simply talking about what one might get into in their bedchambers, or libraries as it were. It extends to hospitals, how you raise your children, end of life care…” He trails off, before shaking his head. He turns so he can fully face her. “Juliet, darling, you’re growing up and making so many decisions, and now you’re making them now with a partner. I love you, more than anything you can comprehend, which is why I’m telling you these things. Adulthood isn’t simple, and strong emotions makes it even more difficult. What I’m trying, rather poorly it seems, is to say that it’s okay to communicate your desires, just as it is for he to communicate his, but both of you can say no and the other needs to respect it, aye?”

She’s unprepared to deal with the intensity of his speech. She’s been unprepared for a lot that has happened today, and she wants to deal with none of it. So she nods her head. “Yeah. Okay. Communicate. Have adult conversations. Is that all?”

“Yeah, that’s all.” He looks taken aback at her response. She regrets her, but he’s already up and walking to the door. “I think I’m going to turn in for the night. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

And then he’s gone, and Juliet feels like the worst person ever.

“You aren’t the worst person ever,” Gideon tells her later that night, after she creeps into the house and back to her childhood bedroom. “Maybe a bit short. As much as I appreciate you defending my honor, based on what he said I don’t think he was meaning it that way. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part.”

“I don’t know, I think he was trying to do the ‘Dad’ thing and make it like a sitcom feel-good moment.” In the immediate aftermath, once she had cooled off and really registered what her father had been saying, she had realized that maybe he hadn’t been implying what she thought he had. “And I yelled at him and then blew him off. I mean, he was being a bit weird about it with the sex stuff, but...I don’t know.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“What do you think I should do about it?”

“That’s not my call, babe,” he says gently. She hears a rustle over the line as he shifts in the bed. She wishes she were there with him, if only so she could feel the comfort of his warmth around her. “You know your dad. Do what you think is best.”

She just has to figure out what that means.

  -/-

  Emma is waiting for him in bed when he clambers into their bedchamber. Her hair, now wet, is pulled into a braid and she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt, but she still looks stunning. She closes the book she had been reading, and gives him a sympathetic look. “I heard yelling.”

“You heard correctly.” He strips off his clothes and brace, for once not bothering to fold them neatly into the hamper. Deciding not to wear his pajama pants, he crawls into bed and takes his spot besides his wife. “I’m not sure how well that conversation went.”

“I told you wait until morning.” Emma pokes him in the chest. “She’s mortified now. Nothing you said was going to register.”

“I didn’t want the moment to pass.” He interlocks his fingers with hers, and kisses her knuckles. “I’m afraid if I had waited until the morning, she would have snuck out. I’m not convinced she still won’t.”

“That does sound like our daughter.” They re-adjust themselves under the blankets so that Emma is laying on his chest. Killian feels his heart rate, previously pounding, slow as he succumbs to the comfort of her presence. “Even if it didn’t go well, I’m proud of you. You pushed past any awkwardness to have a real conversation with your kid.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to say that. She accused me of implying her boyfriend was an abuser.”

“She also apparently likes sex,” Emma adds, humor evident in her tone.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You kinda of walked into that last one, buddy.” He feels Emma traces nonsense into his chest. It tickles, but he allows her to continue. She grounds him, that wife of his, keeping him afloat in the wild storm of his emotions.

“I walked into a lot of things today.” Things he would very much like to forget, regardless of what he told Juliet. He wonders if he might be able to convince Gold to whip them up a memory potion. He thinks the Dark One might agree.

“Yeah, I don’t envy you.”

“You are taking far too much joy in this situation.”

“What can I say, babe? It was a long time coming. Remember when mom walked in on us?”

“Which time?”

“Exactly.”

He laughs, but he doesn’t quite find the humor in the situation. He’s too caught up thinking about all the things he did wrong while talking to Juliet than right tonight. It had been easier when she was younger, far less prone to lash out. Back then, of course, the lessons hadn’t felt some complicated or embarrassing. Perhaps he misses that too, her willingness to listen and the faith that the advice he was imparting was done with her best interest at heart.

But that’s not how it works anymore, is it? She’s her own person. One who apparently likes sex and fools around with her partner in public spaces. And he doesn’t mind, not really, but today had been a stark reminder that she’s not his little girl anymore. He hadn’t been prepared for this part of fatherhood.

“Killian?” Emma says after a lifetime of silence. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. And you want to know how I know it is?” Emma moves that her chin is now resting on his chest. He catches a glint in her green eyes. “Because we’ve been down this road before, and everything turned out fine. Our daughter still comes home.”

“Why does it feel different than before?” he asks. Emma is correct, this isn’t the first time either of them have had a less than ideal encounter with their daughter. He still cringes when he thinks of the slammed doors and eye rolls from her teenage years.

“Because I think this is the first time it’s really sunk in for you that our baby isn’t a baby anymore.” Her words are a heavy weight on his chest as he considers them. Objectively, he recognizes that Juliet is an adult. She’s done well for herself living away from home and completing her studies. She hasn’t starved. But, Emma isn’t necessarily wrong either, and the incident earlier is a reminder of just how much she’s grown.

“You know, earlier I was telling the Crocodile I wished I could turn back time to when she was small. She used to be no longer than my forearm, do you remember that?” He’d been so delicate with her, so afraid of damaging something so small and precious to him.

“Of course I remember that.” Emma smiles fondly, the corner of her eyes crinkling. “Remember those bows my mom got her? The ones with flowers bigger than her face?”

“She would scream every time one of us tried to put it on.”

“You singing sea shanties was one of the only ways to get her to sleep.”

“Aye.” Tired as he had been, Killian cherished those moments he had with his infant daughter. She would be curled up on his chest as he rocked in a chair and hummed her his favorite songs. He felt special, being one of the only people who could calm her down. “I miss it.”

“I know, babe, but we’ve got a lot of new memories ahead of us.” Emma stretches up, leaving him feeling bereft, as she reaches to shut off the lamp. As his eyes attempt to adjust to the light, he feels her settle more firmly into her side of the bed. Unwilling to let her go quite yet, he turns to his side and wraps his arm around her waist.

“You were right about one thing, though.”

“Just one?”

“Hush,” he teases. “This one is different. Gideon, I mean.”

“And what makes you say that?”

Emma is goading him, but he doesn’t care. “You should have seen the fire in her eyes when she thought I was accusing him of being untoward. I’ve never seen her so defensive of anything or anyone in her life.”

“She’s in love.”

“Aye, she’s in love.”

Killian allows that sentiment to close out the night, and lets the evenness of Emma’s breaths slowly lull him to sleep. In the morning, he awakens to the sounds of someone rattling around the kitchen and the smell of pancakes wafting upstairs. He dresses quickly, pulling on the previously ignored pajama pants and a t-shirt before padding down the stairs. He expects to find Emma at the oven, but instead she is sitting at the table, drinking a mug of coffee. She casts him a knowing look and tilts her head to where their daughter is pouring batter into a sizzling skillet.

“Smells amazing, Cygnet.”

“Thanks, I made ‘em from scratch.” As the pancakes cook, she points with a spatula to a plate waiting for him. “You should get them while they’re hot.”

“As the lady insists.” He exchanges glances with Emma as he takes a plate of pancakes and settles into a chair. Rarely is Juliet ever awake this early on her own volition, let alone the one to making breakfast. After taking a few bites, he says, “These are excellent.”

“Thanks. I’ve been trying to learn how to cook, and ta-da.” Juliet flashes a wide smile -- Emma’s smile -- before turning back to her pancakes. Killian holds off on eating the rest, waiting until Juliet settles at the table with a plate of her own food and a glass of orange juice, extra pulp .

Emma excuses herself under the guise of needing to put on makeup, an obvious lie if he ever heard one. However, he can’t fault his wife for engineering an excuse for him and Juliet to be alone. His anxiety from the night before has slowly begun to ebb away knowing that his daughter did, in fact, not sneak out or intentionally sleep in to avoid him. She’s here and having breakfast. It’s the best he can ask for.

“What else are you learning how to cook?” he inquires, because he genuinely wants to know. This is a part of Juliet’s life he hadn’t initially been privy to with her living in New York. He’s eager to learn more.

“This and that. I make a mean pumpkin pasta sauce. If I’m up in the fall, maybe I can make it for you and Mom?”

“There’s nothing we would like more.” The hardest part of her growing older has been her absence. He’s proud that she has the confidence to leave home and forge a path of her own, but he misses her terribly. David had lucked out with both of his children living nearby. Killian has to settle for the occasional visit, mirror chats, or phone calls. The fact that she’s talking about visiting in a few months is a godsend.

She tells him more about the recipes she is learning how to cook -- caramel pie, enchiladas, various stews. He’s impressed, and he tells her as much.

“A girl’s gotta eat,” Juliet answers with a shrug. She pushes around some of the remaining pancakes on her plate. “Hey, Dad? About last night…”

He opens his mouth to apologize. Not for what he said, but instead for not yet coming to terms with her adulthood. Juliet, however, doesn’t allow him to finish. “Thanks for caring about me and everything.”

“You never need to thank me for that. I’m your father.”

“Yeah, but I want to,” she replies. He cheeks flush, and she pushes a few stray strands of hair behind her ears. “And, I didn’t say it last night, but I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Cygnet.”

Killian chooses not to press for any conversation surrounding last night anymore. He recognizes an olive branch when he sees one, and Emma’s advice about waiting is stilling lingering at the back of his mind. Instead, he asks his daughter her plans about the rest of weekend, and suggests that if they have time, her and Gideon should join he and Emma on the Jolly for a sunset cruise -- an olive branch of your own to say that he doesn’t actually hate her boyfriend.

“I’ll have to check, but that sounds fun,” she tells him.

Later, when they’re at station, Killian tells Emma all of this. He watches as her smile grows wider with each addition to the story, culminating on the tentative sailing excursion.

“I told you she would cool off.”

“To be honest, I’m a little surprised she did so quickly.” Since Juliet has inherited his temper, he had feared she would inherit his ability to hold a grudge. She certainly did when she was younger. As a teenager, she had perfected the silent treatment in a way that’s almost impressive. (For those not on the receiving end.”)

Emma simply gives him another one of her smiles and peck on the lips. “Well, yeah, our baby is growing up.”

He mutters something that sounds like agreement before giving his wife a kiss and returning to his work. He’s still not fond of his daughter being an adult, an absurd thought for something so inevitable and expected. But she’s happy. That’s what matters in the end.

[sqsupernova]

“You’re a terrible liar by the way. Not once did I believe a single one of your lies.” Emma looked up to meet a particularly smug looking Regina. “See, normally I would try and prove you wrong but y’know.” Emma pointed at her lips and shrugged animatedly which caused Regina to chuckle and shake her head. “What made you want to move here? You could have easily stayed where you were and visited Henry. Why did you stay in Storybrooke?” Regina asked, it was a question which had kept her up many nights especially when Emma had first moved to town. Emma thought for a minute, the decision itself had been spur of the moment but even when she and Regina were at their worst stage in fighting, she had still not even thought about going back to Boston. “I guess that I had nothing to lose and everything to stay for.”

Sweet Little Lies, @cryingoversq

[lifemessesofkj]

Once Upon A Time Rewatch Review: Season 4A, This Could Be The Worst Idea You’ve Evver Had, And You Hired The Wicked Witch As Your Nanny

Where We Started: Storybrooke, Maine and Arendelle

Where We Ended: Storybrooke, Maine and New York, New York

Curse Count: 4 (The Spell of Shattered Sight is gonna count as a curse. Plus it even changed the town line crossing consequences again)

Many regard this as the worst half season of Once Upon A Time, and honestly, they might be right. It was the height of the Frozen hype and Once Upon A Time jumped on the opportunity to make bank on it. For a show where magic is frequently used, the CGI left something to be desired, namely in the curse cloud of falling mirror shards (only once the shards started falling, up until then, prettiest curse cloud yet) and our friends the Rock Trolls. 

Ingrid is largely seen as the lamest villian to grace our screens, but I actually really liked her. And we really set up for Rumplestiltskin’s problems in the second half of the season. I like Ingrid’s story line, the way they altered the Frozen story line without changing the story line that occurs in the movie. The addition of Ingrid and Helga to the family tree and their subsequent removal. I really enjoyed this, and how Ingrid found Emma, went to Storybrooke, and everything leading up to this.

Heavy Emma story lines as Emma tries to harness her powers for what she wants and then just wants to be in control of. She has a steep learning curve with the magic, she hurts Henry, but she also has a bit of a hard time with balancing the rest of her life with her job as the Sheriff/Savior. 

Emma and Hook go on their first real date. They dress up and go somewhere nice, and Hook falls into debt with the Dark One. Cue ALL the problems. I don’t even want to get into all the things with the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, but long story short, the Hat sucks up magical beings like ALL THE FAIRIES IN STORYBROOKE and will somehow let Rumple free himself from the dagger. Which Belle knows nothing about, because Rumplestiltskin is a lying liar.

Regina gets screwed over about 3 times in this Marion-Robin story line. First, Robin goes back to his wife because it is the right thing to do. Regina was gonna kill her, but then Ingrid beat her to it, so she does a 180 and tries to save Marion. She cant, she needs Robin to love Marion again. He doesn’t, there’s lots of anguish followed by VERY STEAMY dialogue and implied sexy time. Then Ingrid is defeated and Marion is saved! And then BAM! Marion’s not really saved and must cross the town line and never return in order to stay alive. Regina sends Marion across the town line, with Robin and Roland and some starter cash. Very generous, VERY UNFAIR.

There’s a lot of time issues with our Arendelle friends, where all their story line happens earlier than we’ve ever seen our Enchanted Forest friends before. Belle is not yet sold herself off to be Rumplestiltskin’s maid, David is still a shepherd, with ridiculous looking long Jesus-hair. Apparently Kristoff and David are friends somehow. Then Elsa is put in the urn, and Anna is frozen with the entire kingdom of Arendelle. The Enchanted Forest folk undergo the Dark Curse and all that so EVERYONE’S NOT AGING ALL THE TIME.

It’s all quite something. Also everything was the fault of The Duke of Weselton, so like that was kind of amazing. I liked  that a lot. Also Hans and his 12 brothers did not give up on Arendelle. I guess they’re not happy sharing the Southern Isles. Also like Hans just like declared himself king, did none of the older brothers want that? He got punched out by Anna in the end so like whatever.

Quick shoutout to the costume designers and department, every Frozen outfit was perfectly on point. Kristoff and Hans looked great, Anna and Elsa’s outfits were the same as the movies down to all the last details. It was great.

Quick update on how everyone else is doing. The Charmings are trying ridiculously hard to improve their parenting track record. They are putting in the effort and they’ve upgraded their babysitter from Ruby and the Wicked Witch of the West to Belle, who is actually a great babysitter. Henry and Regina are involved in Operation Mongoose and finding the Author, which will be much more important in the upcoming half season. Right now its mostly setup. Everyone else is around I guess? But like there wasn’t a whole lot of room for anything besides the background story of the characters who were relevant. Maybe an exception being Will Scarlet, our link between Once Upon A Time and its so-so spinoff Once Upon A Time in Wonderland

The big thing we’ve been gearing up for at this moment was the Rumplestiltskin drama and the Queens of Darkness. I remember that I had a family dinner the night the midseason finale aired. I remember watching it online the next day with my brother and legitimately SCREAMING as Belle forced Rumple over the town line. I was SHAKEN by this turn of events.

But we send Rumple off to New York (Remember when Boston was the go to city to go to?) and he meets up with Ursula, who we know from a Belle flashback is a chum with Cruela Deville and Maleficent (A different Maleficient than the dragon under the clock tower? I honestly can’t remember).

They’re amazing so them and the Author are who we’re looking forward to. The Author is in high demand between Henry, Emma, and Regina on one side, and then Rumple and the Queens of Darkness on another.

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 2X06 - Tallahassee

Who’s ready for a vacay?! I’m thinking Florida!

...I was kind of hoping for Disney, but *shrugs* whatever. 

Anyway, under the cut for my thoughts on this OUAT vacation.

Press Release With the hopes of finding a magical compass that could help her and Mary Margaret get back to Storybrooke, Emma takes a journey with a not-too-trustworthy Captain Hook up a treacherous beanstalk in an attempt to steal the item from a murderous giant. Meanwhile, Emma’s past is revealed to be anything but magical when she meets up with a fellow thief who wants to make an honest woman out of her. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past This was a really well put together segment! What makes it work for me is the care they brought to Neal while constructing his backstory in regards to Emma. It’s actually been a while since I’ve watched an episode with Neal in it, and I forgot about a lot of his charm and dedication. At the same time, the episode doesn’t make Neal perfect at any point, showing him be a thief and getting angry, exasperated, and even a little stupid. That stuff makes the betrayal of Emma’s trust, for as saddening as it is, feel like something that could feasibly happen, especially as the audience can interpret to some extent (Until it’s explicitly laid out a few episodes later).

I have an unpopular opinion among my fellow Emma fans. That is, I feel like she’s a character that doesn’t necessarily need a ton of backstory. That’s because episodes like these are so impactful for the exact reason that they're rarities. when someone lets Emma down in just one flashback, we understand how important that moment was to Emma and how it shaped that one facet of her personality so specifically. well, I feel like had they had too many Emma flashbacks, they wouldn’t have been as effective because they would have been akin to laying on a bed of nails: An overabundance of sob stories just makes one feel exhausted more than sympathetic and so much more of Emma’s depth is revealed from the parts of her that are not spoonfed, such as her one off lines about the effects of her lonely upbringing. Present I’ll go over this soon, but trust is a big theme of this episode, and Emma’s trust for Killian in the present is framed to be at a contrast with her trust for Neal in the past. And to a degree and not a small one, that does come through. There are a lot of subtle moments that show growth (Killian being able to read Emma, Emma confessing that she was in love once, Emma’s concern for Killian’s wellbeing). However, I feel like for in order for Emma’s betrayal at the end to make more sense as a move that frustrates but is still understandable, they should’ve shown a bit more growth in Emma’s trust for Killian. As it stands, their interactions feel like they more or less reset at the start of every new scene between them. Emma makes her distrust for Killian clear, the two of them do something (Climbing, knocking out Anton, exploring Anton’s castle), one of them gets in physical danger or something is otherwise exposed, and 1% of trust is added. I really feel like there should’ve been a bit more warmth or more obvious progress because not only on its own, but especially when compared to Emma and Neal’s story, it’s not as effective when Emma locks him up because I can’t help but feel like that’s something she probably would’ve done at the end of “The Doctor” too. What changed and does she regret her choice? It doesn’t seem to be the case because there’s not much within the segment itself to compare the moment to.

On a more positive note, in addition to just Killian’s interactions with Emma, we get a lot of insight into his character on his own. For instance, Killian, despite working for Cora, doesn’t trust her, adding to the later-on emphasized concern for self preservation. We also see the first of Killian’s signature impatience. It’s weird. After over 100 years in Neverland, Killian has definitely shown how patient he can be, but as his revenge gets closer, practically insight, we see how that patience just drops to nothing. One could conceivably even call that a fault in his character, but I’d argue against that given how we've also seen later on instances where Killian has had no patience with his revenge right in front of him, so it does make sense. It's also very interesting parallel to Rumple, who in later episodes is shown to experience similar behavior. All Encompassing The issue and theme of trust (Or rather, destroyed trust) is prevalent through the two main segments. In the past, Neal betrayed Emma’s trust, and taking from that experience, Emma betrays Killian’s trust (And to a smaller extent, Snow’s trust through not telling her about her favor from Mulan). This episode also has a really nifty parallel to its own predecessors. Now, in a lot of episodes of season 2 thus far, we’ve see characters internalizing a bad lesson in the past, but  rejecting it (mostly) in the present (Rumple being more cooperative with Belle’s needs, Regina refusing to inflict the same pain on Henry that Cora inflicted on her, and Regina being able to let go of Daniel). However, for the first time this season, we see a character who internalized that lesson in the past (protect yourself because you don't know when someone will betray you, even if you trust them), but actually refused to move on from it in the present. Emma, despite seeing and even acknowledging that she does to a large extent trusts Killian, still leaves him cuffed atop the beanstalk (“I can’t take a chance that I’m wrong about you.” Insights - Stream of Consciousness -I love Killian in his robes! He just looks so snuggly, even more so than usual! -”Bad form” makes what I believe is its first appearance! -Killian, watch that! That’s your soon-to-be mother-in-law talking! -I like how the mythology of the giants factors into the present story. Keeping in tune with one of the secondary themes of the episode -- that things are never what they seem -- the giant’s were described as brutes (As per Killian’s story), they were (As we later learn) more like isolationists and he war of giants and men was flipped from the known storyline. Watching this episode with the knowledge from “Tiny” already in mind makes all the scenes where the giant’s history is described so gruesome. -Has anyone ever written a fic where Cora actually does accompany Killian up the beanstalk? -”Emma Swan. Good name.” Am I the only one to connect this to Rumple’s “Emma. What a lovely name” line? -I know Neal gets a lot of flack for the “women” line, but I’m not entirely convinced that that was what he was going for. Instead, I feel like he’s playing to the cop’s sexism. I feel this way both because of the really over-the-top-but-in-a-way-that-one-can-tell-it’s-fake weasel-y smile he gives the cop and the “we” he says regarding his and Emma’s escape once the cop goes away. -”You’re not gonna argue with me?” “Would it do you any good?” I like that subtle display of Emma and Snow’s growing bond! -”Well, you never forget your first.” Now I really want to know what Killian’s first beanstalk was like! -Does anyone know what an Apollo bar is? Like, I know that it’s a fake candy bar, but what’s inside? -Random dude in the shop: Just yell “He’s stealing!” And why did you guys not chase after them?! -”Are you sure? Is this...what you really want?” MY POOR EMMA!!!! She’s been let down so many times! -I just realized that after the events of “Awake,” everyone in town had nightmares for months! How much you want to bet there was an Insomnia Club that was formed afterwards? XD -I like how Aurora’s grown to trust Snow so much given their rocky start! (Sleeping Snow, anyone?) -”It’s where the Final Battle was.” I know A&E had absolutely no knowledge as to the Season 6 finale, but I can’t help but snicker anyway. -”It’s rum, and a bloody waste of it.” I feel like this line would’ve worked better with that deleted scene from when they were climbing the giant’s beanstalk. -”Maybe I was once.” I find that this is such a good acknowledgment of trust that Emma now has in Killian. -How strong is Killian that he can get such a loud sound out of that simple pounding with a bone? -I love Anton’s costume! It’s so cuddly! -”I’m the worst human around!” I wonder how much Killian truly believes that. Like don’t get me wrong, Killian’s a baddie and a bad baddie, but does he consider himself worse than Rumple or was that line just part of the ruse? Because it’s Killian, I could honestly buy either. -Jack is so fucking extra. Who puts their own name on their sword?! -Emma just has the most beautiful hair ever! -I love seeing how much Emma’s willing to fight for her happiness when she knows she has it. As soon as Neal tells her he can’t go to Tallahassee, but instead needs to go to Canada, Emma’s all ready to go! -I sometimes forget just how Neal and Baelfire are the same person. It’s not like it’s executed badly or anything, but it’s such a change. -”You know your rights?” I’m not a cop by ANY means, but I’m pretty sure the cop has to actually say the rights (Correct me if I’m wrong). -”We do it side-by-side and fast.” Another line that shows Emma’s increasing trust for Killian! -”You gotta promise that you’ll be there for me.” “I promise.” LIAR! -”Money’s not what she needs.” August, she has roughly ten years left before she can break the curse AND she’s an ex-con. She might need that extra money! August, I’m not liking you in this episode! -How did August send Neal a postcard in his wooden form? -*Bites Anton to get freed* Emma, I don’t know what your dental plan (Or lack thereof) is, but stick with it! Also, more characters should bite to solve their problems! XD -Emma’s gotten so comfortable with a sword! -”You’re wrong.” [About all humans being killers] Emma, saying that while waving the sword isn’t helping your case. -”Now go before I change my mind.” Anton, you precious bean! You can see him trying and failing to be a badass! -”A jump from a beanstalk.” You’re one hell of a daredevil, Emma! Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Emma and Snow getting back to Storybrooke - We get both half a means of a return journey as well as a future means of communication between the realms. Favorite Dynamic Emma and Anton - I honestly stuck this here because I figure I have talked (And will talk) about the other main dynamics, so why not go a touch more obscure?! So, what I like about Emma and Anton’s connection is something that connects her to both Neal and Killian, but gets its due emphasis here: Emma and Anton believe themselves to be alone and have learned not to trust others. And Emma, after understanding Anton’s story, position, and his victimization at the hands of those who bastardized his history, she shows him understanding and compassion, and Anton returns that. Writer We’ve once again got one new writer (Christine Boylan) and one old writer (Jane Espenson). It’s a pretty decent premiere! The past segment especially was fantastic, painting a story about Emma and Neal that was simple, but it worked for that reason. The present segment, well I have a bit more issues with it.  I feel like there was this tug of war. they wanted to keep the characters consistent but also tell a story about trust and how Emma’s past ruined that growing trust, and while it’s possible to do that, the journey needed more room for more overt growth. Now, I like the more subtle shows of growing trust (As I said before, confessions of love from the past and concern for each other), but it also felt like those subtle bits didn’t really move Emma and Killian anywhere meaningful, making the climactic moment fall flat, and that’s frustrating because I can't help it feel like this was easily fixable. Why couldn’t Emma and Killian have a moment where they were talking a bit more comfortably, perhaps right before the scene before Anton re-enters the castle, and Killian says something that echoes something Neal said to her in the past segment (Think like when Felix called Calhoun a “dynamite gal” in Wreck It Ralph)? It would’ve contributed more to the crossroad that Emma found herself at the end of the episode and would make her decision (Again) more understandable for as frustrating as it is. Rating 7/10. I really hate giving this episode this score. It’s an okay score for an okay episode, but after the first five episodes of the season scored 10’s or Golden Apples, it feels worse than it actually is to have to put that number down. I loved this walk through of Emma’s experiences with trust. It paints this really vivid image of the types of disappointments that Emma has seen through her lifetime of abandonment, but gave a good deal of nuance and understanding to Neal, someone who ordinarily may have been just straight up villainized. I took points because I felt that there could’ve been just a bit stronger of a growing trust between Killian and Emma. I felt it, but to be a parallel to what Neal and Emma had, I just wish it was stronger because it really just feels like Emma did exactly what she would’ve done to Killian in the previous episode. I want to see her journey and previous experiences shape her actions and while I felt like it was done okay, it was still too weak to contribute to what should’ve been a more tragic payoff. Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Captain Swan - “Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.” “I’d despair if you did.” Those two lines are just the best! Everything one would want from chemistry to animosity is there and it’s just fantastic! The same goes for the famous “I love a challenge line!” Also, in two weird CS/SF parallels, (1) Neal calls he and Emma a we, whereas Emma calls she and Killian “we,” and (2), Neal calls their escape “home” to Emma in the past and Emma does the same with Killian in the present. Also also, I just genuinely love the way Emma worries for Killian after the giant falls, shouting “Hook” as loud as she can. Also, also, also, “Everything we need is right in front of us.” Note how the two of them were looking at each other. Swan Fire - I like how in Emma and Neal’s first scene, Emma raises an impressed eyebrow to Neal as he’s lying to the cop. It’s such a sign that she’d found a kindred spirit! It’s also reinforced when Emma smiles at Neal’s second request for drinks. I like how Neal upgrades their lied about relationship from “girlfriend” to “wife,” subtly signifying how their relationship has truly grown. Also, “this little guy saved us!” I know that was totally not intended to be about Henry necesaarily, but fuck it, I’mma imagine it! Also, the kiss afterwards was adorable as all hell! As was the conversation in the hotel room, and it makes their tragic downfall all the more tragic! Also, there’s a Snowing parallel I just noticed! In the hotel scene in the flashback, Emma talks about how dreamcatchers (Which is kind of her thing with Neal) kept the bad dreams away. Meanwhile,  Charming used a candle (Fire = Balefire)  to ward the nightmares off from Snow. Also also, “what you want” seems to be a bit of a line between them, akin to “I will always find you” and “I’m a survivor,” said twice by Emma -- once to confirm and again to reaffirm her dedication to Neal! Finally, I just love how Neal initially stands up to August on Emma’s behalf when he says he’s her guardian angel. ()()()()()()()()() Thank you for reading! And to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales to putting this project together and helping me keep the lights on! 

Next time, let’s hang out with some moon kids! Season 2 Tally (57/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (20/60) Jane Espenson (17/50) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (10/50) David Goodman (10/30) Robert Hull (10/30) Christine Boylan (7/30)

Operation Rewatch Archives

[hopeduckling13]

Find My Way Back To You: Chapter 19

Summary:  Hope Swan-Jones is the product of the product of true love and her true love, so her having very powerful magic was always in the cards. Luckily she lives in a town where everyone is very familiar with magic, so nothing can go wrong, can it?

Or so everyone thought, but then one day as a newborn Hope accidently travels back in time with her mother Emma.

How will the past population of Storybrooke react to their Savior having another kid and being married? And more importantly will the Savior and her baby daughter find a way back home to all of their loved ones?

- - -

Catch Up:

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857127/chapters/34395467

FF.NET: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12964592/1/Find-My-Way-Back-To-You

Tumblr: [Prologue] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18]

--- PAST EMMA’S POV ---

 What the hell?! Emma can’t possibly have kissed Hook? Right?

I mean she’s me. He’s Hook. I would never ever kiss Hook. I don’t even like him. This just doesn’t add up. Why would I ever even consider kissing him? Sure, he isn’t too bad looking and we do kind of understand each other, but that doesn’t automatically make me want to kiss him. He’s one of the most annoying people I know, so kissing him would only lead to him being even worse than he already is with all the teasing and smirking 24/7. I swear if I could, I’d staple that eyebrow of his on his face, so he couldn’t raise it every few seconds any more.

There has to be another explanation for the whole kiss problem. One that actually makes sense.

It’s probably like I originally assumed. Hook is a crazy person or a liar. So, him believing this kiss happened, doesn’t make it true. He thinks it happened since he believes everyone loves him as much as he loves himself. But he’s wrong about that. Most people are just annoyed by him – including myself.

There’s no way a version of me kissed him. And besides my obvious dislike towards him, Emma being a happily married woman proves this, too. She wouldn’t risk what she has with her husband, whom she seems to love a lot, for a kiss from Hook – in the past. She seems to think they’re true love after all, so she honestly wouldn’t cheat on him – especially not with such an infuriating pirate. The few failed relationships I did have, never involved any cheating on my part either. So, I doubt I would start now that I am in a great one.

So, let’s just move on and agree that Hook is insane.

“Oh, Swan, that kiss did most certainly happen. You’re just too stubborn to admit it. But one day you will and that's when all the fun begins.” He smirks at me and I consider leaving, but I know it won’t do me any good. He’ll just run after me. And I’d have nowhere else to go except for the loft, which is out of the question for at least another few hours.

So, I order another glass of rum as a staff member passes us, and lean back into the booth, trying to enjoy my evening away from the craziness happening at the loft. I do my best to ignore Hook, but his constant staring sure does make it hard. If I don’t control myself, I know I’ll punch him soon.

I down another shot of rum, thinking it might distract me enough to ignore Hook for a little, but that’s not the case. That’s also when I have enough. I turn towards him and snap at him. “What?!”

He raises his eyebrow in surprise at my sudden outburst. And here he is constantly going on about how he can read my every thought since I’m an open book to him. Seems like he was wrong now, doesn’t it? One point for me.

“Quit staring at me!” I say angrily.

“I’m just enjoying the view, love.” He smirks. I punch his arm lightly, which just makes him chuckle. I know I should’ve hit him harder. Now he’ll just assume it was a friendly little punch.

“That’s such a cliché.” I reply, trying to distract him. Hook seems to be confused by that, so my plan officially worked. He knew that he probably doesn’t know the word. I’m not sure whether it exists in the Enchanted Forest and in addition he’s 300 years old or something, so how would he even know? “It’s a kind of sentence, that is used very often – to the extent that it’s overused – and it sounds creepy because of that.” I actually offer him a smile. “Also, I’m not your ‘love’ so stop calling me that.”

“Well, it is the truth, love. And if I’m not allowed to look at you, then how am I supposed to figure out why you’re so vexed today?”

Just proves again how much I am not an open book. That time on the beanstalk he must’ve only gotten lucky. He couldn’t actually ‘read my mind’ then, just like he can’t now. Everything he did knew was probably just a guess or Cora spied on us and told him to make him seem trustworthy.

I never completely believed him – only partly since we seem to be a lot alike, bonded by our pasts – when he called me an open book. And I am very relieved that that’s right. Not a single person in the world needs to know my business. I’ve done well on my own since I was a little kid, and that hasn’t changed. I don’t need anyone in my life. It’s great to have Henry, but he’s really the only person I’m willing to get vulnerable with. That’s a smart choice, right?

Why does Hook want to know what’s up with me anyway? Is he still working for Cora? I mean he said that she has her own agenda here and I actually believed him then. My lie detector didn’t indicate a lie, which seems to be the case whenever I talk to him. He never seems to lie to me, but that doesn’t make sense. He’s a pirate and they are supposed to lie. So, what’s his deal right now?

He doesn’t really care, does he? He’s probably just bored or inquisitive.

“As if you actually care about what has me in such a bad mood.” I say dryly, trying not to let it show, that this actually scares the crap out of me. Why does he have to seem so trustworthy and nice all the time? It just confused my brain into thinking that he cares about me. But he doesn’t. I mean, who could ever care about me? I’m not someone that other people give a crap about. That’s how its always been.

Also, I’m always doing my best at being mean to him, so why doesn’t he ever leave? Why doesn’t he let me push him away? It’s always been so easy with everyone else in my life – they even left me without me trying to push them out of my life.

“Maybe I do care.” He’s almost whispering by now, but I hear every single word crystal clear. The worst thing about this is that it sounds so damn sincere. He’s actually serious about this, isn’t he? I was prepared for that admission, at least that’s what I thought when I teased him. But I wasn’t really ready for this.  “So, what is it that’s bothering you, Swan? Maybe I can help…”

He must have better things to do then sitting here and offering to listen to my problems, right? People don’t put me first. Is he doing this because he’s got no one either? Or because he actually wants to help me?

Tears build behind my eyelids and I just stare at him with big eyes. I don’t know what to say, so I tell myself that sometimes actions speak louder than words. I shift in the booth to sit closer to him. I lean in very slowly to make that kiss he keeps talking about real, but just as our lips are about to touch, I hear the bartender setting down a little bottle of rum on our table.

I pull away very fast, so that I’m almost hitting my head on the wall behind me in the progress. I say “This didn’t happen, so never mention it again – not to me nor to anyone else.” to Hook before getting out of my seat and leaving the Rabbit Hole. He doesn’t follow me this time.

[swanqueeneverafter]

44. Operation Mongoose, Pt.3

Enchanted Forest. (Rumplestiltskin arrives home after a day of heroics.) Rumplestiltskin: (Opens the door, smiles:) “Belle!” Belle: (Kisses him as the baby gurgles:) “Sounds like someone else wants to celebrate your return.” Rumplestiltskin: (Closes the door:) “And how is the newest member of our dear family?” Isaac: “With any luck, he'll grow up to be just like dear old dad.” (Rumplestiltskin turns to see Isaac seated in another room.) Rumplestiltskin: “Belle. You didn't tell me we had a visitor.” Isaac: “Name's Isaac. (Stands:) I was travelling through your village, when your wife invited me in to slake my thirst. (Takes a sip from the cup:) Mm. (To Belle:) Not to be too picky, but the water tastes a little murky.” Belle: “Oh. I'll get some that's fresh from the well.” (Belle leaves.) Rumplestiltskin: “You didn't come here for the water.” Isaac: “Perceptive in all worlds. Good. Yes. I came here to warn you. Your happiness is in danger.” Rumplestiltskin: “From what?” Isaac: “A boy. He's on a mission to help the bandit Regina. If he succeeds, everything you have will be destroyed. Not to mention what I have.” Rumplestiltskin: “Ha! What nonsense. How can some stranger's actions affect my life?” Isaac: “Because your happiness, your entire life... It's not real. I know because I am the one who created it... With magic. And it is all about to crumble. Regina's true love is about to marry another. She's going to try and stop the wedding. You cannot let her succeed. You have to kill her.” Rumplestiltskin: (Draws his sword:) “Demon! You've been sent here to try to corrupt me.” Isaac: “You have already been corrupted. Before all of this, you were a villain... Maybe the worst one of all. Which is why you had me use magic to rewrite your story. Look, I can prove it to you. I-I know things... The secrets that you've kept from Belle, the ones about your first son... Baelfire.” Rumplestiltskin: “Where did you hear that name?” Isaac: “In this story, he was killed in the ogre wars despite your heroic efforts. But in reality, he died because of your cowardice.” Rumplestiltskin: “No, no, no. I... I protected him. I did my best. I... I was honourable.” Isaac: “No. You weren't. He died because of you.” Rumplestiltskin: “Liar! Get out of here... Now.” Isaac: “All right. I'll go. But deep down, you know I'm right. You're not really a hero. And if you don't kill Regina and keep her from her happy ending, then everyone, including Belle, will know, too. I know you'll make the right choice, Rumple. You always do.” (He leaves.)

On The Jolly Roger. Henry: “Ahoy! Is anyone here?! Blackbeard: “Careful, boy. No one steps aboard the Jolly Roger's decks without an invitation from its captain first.” Henry: “Are you gonna make me walk the plank?” Blackbeard: “That depends on why you're here.” Henry: “I need a ship to take me to the bottomless sea.” Blackbeard: “Now, those are treacherous waters. There must be something of great value there to be worth taking the risk.” Henry: “Someone. Her name is Emma. She's my mom. And she was put there by the queen.” Blackbeard: “Well, then, I'm sorry for you. I can't help you.” Henry: “Then I’ll wait for your captain.” Blackbeard: “Captain? I am the captain of this vessel my boy.” Henry: “What about Hook?” Blackbeard: (Laughs:) “That old drunkard? The only thing he’s captaining these days is a bottle of rum.” (Suddenly a rope is cut and a pulley swings down to knock out Blackbeard.) Hook: (Stepping onto the ship:) “Actually, I haven’t touched a drop in months.” Henry: “Hook? What happened to you?” Hook: “A lifetime filled with regret. Now did I hear correctly, you wish to travel to the bottomless sea to rescue someone the queen locked away? (Henry nods:) Excellent idea. Anything to cause Snow White pain.” Henry: “Did she do this to you?” Hook: “In a sense... But we have a problem, I can't sail the Jolly Roger alone.” Henry: (Shakes his head:) “I can help.” Hook: “How do you know how to sail a ship?” Henry: “I had a great teacher... You.” Hook: (Stares at him, confused:) “Of course you did. Now lets set sail shall we?” On The Sea. Henry: (Using an eyeglass:) “Look! We found it!” Hook: “There's a black knight standing guard.” Henry: “Only one. We can take him out.” Hook: “I like your spirit, lad. Now make yourself useful and head down to the galley.” Henry: “The galley? What for?” Hook: “Potatoes of course! (At Henry’s confused look:) Trust me, all will become clear.”

The Tower. (Hook brings Henry, with a potato sack over his head, to the Black Knight as a prisoner.) Hook: (Whispered to Henry:) “Told you things would become clear. (As Henry walks into a wall:) Oh, sorry. (They approach the Black Knight:) I'm here on official business for the queen, delivering a dangerous prisoner from the kingdom of Kashyyyk. (As the Black Knight looks him up and down, Henry hits the knight with the hilt of his sword:) Well done, lad.” Henry: “I like it, the Wookiee prisoner gag always works.” Hook: “The what?” Henry: “Never mind. Lock the guard in the cell. I'll be back with my Mom as soon as I can.” Emma's Cell. (Henry climbs the steps to Emma’s cell and unlocks the door to see her on the floor.) Henry: (Cautiously:) “Hi. My name is...” Emma: “Henry.” Henry: “Mom?” Emma: (Gets to her feet:) “Henry.” Henry: “You... You remember.” Emma: “I knew you'd find me.” (Emma hugs Henry.) Henry: “I don't understand. How do you remember when no one else does?” Emma: “Must have been part of Gold's plan. My punishment in this world is that I know the truth but I'm powerless to do anything about it. In this world, I'm no longer the Savior. I've got no magic.” Henry: “That's all right. Neither does Regina.” Emma: “Regina. Is she OK?” Henry: “Yeah, here she’s a bandit.” Emma: “Just like Snow was.” Henry: (Nods:) “I... think I know what to do to get us home but you’re not gonna like it.” Emma: “Kid, whatever it takes to get us back to Storybrooke, I’m more than OK with. Now, come on, lets go. (Emma crashes into Hook.) Oh!” Henry: “Uh, yeah, Killian, this is my mom. Mom, Killian.” Hook: “A pleasure, milady.” Emma: (Surprised by his appearance:) “Yeah. Right. Look, we need to... Get going.”

On The Sea. Emma: “Thank you for your help, Killian.” Hook: (Bows:) “Not at all. I'm pleased you regained your freedom.” Emma: “Me too. Unfortunately, it's not gonna last unless those chains hold.” Hook: “The chains that held you captive? Why shouldn’t they?” (The dragon bursts through the tower.) Emma: “Because that was not any ordinary black knight.” Hook: “Lily? She was your guard?” Emma: “You remember her?” Hook: “Remember her? (Looks back toward the fire breathing dragon:) I’ve been searching for her for years.” (Just then, Lily roars and breathes fire at them before taking flight.) Emma: (Confused:) “She’s not following us.” Hook: (Shaking his head, watching her fly away:) “No, she’s probably headed back to warn the queen. Snow White’s grip on her must be powerful.” Emma: (As he turns back, gently:) “So, Lily’s your daughter? (Hook nods:) I mean, in the world where Henry and I are from, Lily’s your daughter too. I guess, I figured things would be different here.” Hook: (Sighs, sadly:) “I was away at sea when Snow White ripped my family apart. The queen wished to be feared throughout the realms and she believed having a fire-breathing dragon at her command would bolster her dominion. But when Mal, Lily’s mother, refused to serve her, the queen crushed her heart and took the child as her own. When I heard the news I fought with everything I could to find Lily, but it was too late. I’ve never stopped searching for her.” Henry: “Now you know she’s alive, there’s still a chance. In our world you found each other, you just have to believe.” Emma: (Nods:) “But none of that matters unless we can stop those bells from chiming. C’mon all hands on deck!” At The Dark Castle. (Snow White’s minions are gathered in the war room as the queen enters.) Snow White: “Where is Regina's heart? No one? And what of the child? Surely you imbeciles aren't all stupid enough to report back here empty-handed.” Charming: “Actually, your majesty, they are exactly that stupid.” Grumpy: “We would have caught the bandit if Blue and her gaggle of uglies hadn't laid a trap of dark fairy dust, paralyzing our axes.” Granny: “Always blaming the fairies. Maybe you should try and take responsibility for once, dwarf.” Grumpy: “You mangy, flea-infested wolf. I should get a muzzle...” Snow White: “Silence. We aren't here to fight. We're a team.” Grumpy: “So you're not... Mad?” Snow White: “Of course not. It's not your fault. (Begins to circle the table:) It's mine. You see, I am your leader, and I have to lead by example. We have to go to extreme lengths to succeed. And to do that... I have to show you how. I have to motivate you. (Snow White rips out Doc's heart and kills him:) Well, now you're down to six. (Whispers to Grumpy:) Do you want to make it five? (She stands:) Find Regina and the boy and kill them!” (She and Charming leave the room as Doc’s body slumps to the floor.)

At The Docks. (Emma has just explained the differences between her world and Hook’s.) Hook: “You're telling me that... In this other reality, I've somehow remained young and my mortal enemy is Rumplestiltskin, the white knight?” Emma: “He’s the Dark One in our world, but yes.” Hook: “So, no matter what incarnation, my life seems to be tied to revenge.” Emma: “When you put it like that, I guess that’s true. (As Hook looks away, she changes the subject:) Hey, let's see what food Henry's discovered. I'm starving.” (As they round the corner, they walk right into Lily as she leads the queen straight to them.) Lily: “There they are. It's as I told you, my queen. The one-handed pirate was helping them. And the boy was with them, as well.” Grumpy: “Tell us where the child is hiding!” (Grumpy attacks Hook.) Emma: “Hey! Back off, dwarf! (Shoves him down:) Or they'll change your name to stumpy!” Snow White: “I know you. You're... Emma. The mad hag who was locked in the tower. I almost didn't recognize you out of your chains.” Emma: ��You're the one that's hard to recognize... Both of you. This isn't who you are.” Snow White: “Tell me... Who are we?” Emma: “You're my parents. I'm the product of your true love. You taught me how to be a hero, you taught me how to believe in hope. And I do. And now I need you to believe in it, too.” Snow White: “You're right, Emma. Hope is a very powerful thing. Which is why I'm going to have to snuff it out of you and that awful son of yours. Kill them.” Charming: (Notices Henry:) “Wait! There he is.” Snow White: “My, my. I am going to enjoy watching him die in front of his mother.”

Hook: (Stepping forward:) “I think you’ve torn enough families apart for one lifetime, queenie.” Emma: “Hook, what are you doing?” Hook: “Trust me, I’ve waited a long time for this. Take Henry and go.” Emma: “Killian, you can't beat them.” Hook: “Perhaps not, but I can show my daughter that her father is still fighting for her after all these years. Besides, if I can help return things to how they were meant to be, then what happens to me here won't matter, will it? Now go. (Emma turns and joins Henry as Hook kicks over a market stall, taking out three guards:) I’m here for my daughter.” (Charming follows Hooks gaze towards Lily.) Charming: (Chuckles:) “It seems she’s made her choice, pirate.” Hook: “We’ll just see about that, won’t we? (Charming attacks and Hook parries, staying on the defensive before he finds his opening and disarms the royal guard. To Lily:) Fear not, sweetheart, this’ll all be over soon. (Snow White approaches:) Ah! Just who I’ve been waiting for. What about you, your majesty? Shall I make quick work...” (Snow throws a fireball at Hook, sending him to the floor.) Emma: “Hook! (To Henry:) I’m the Savior, I can save him.” Snow White: (Standing over him:) “You should’ve stayed gone, pirate.” Henry: “Mom! We have to get out of here or else nothing we do will matter!” (Snow White sees them and sends a fire ball in their direction as Emma and Henry run away. The queen returns her attention to the prone man at her feet.) Snow White: “And now to put an end to your truly pathetic life. (The queen conjures yet another fireball and is about to strike when Lily snatches it out of her hand:) What are you doing, you imbecile! Are you forgetting who you work for?” (Lily turns and throws the fireball at Charming who hits the ground hard.) Lily: “Dragons never forget anything. (Looks to Hook:) Especially the sound of their father’s voice.” (Hook looks on proudly as Lily transforms once more into a fearsome dragon and looms over the now fearful Snow White.)