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majesty-madness · 2 years ago

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A Past Encounter - Bucky Barnes x reader (nsfw)

Summary: Being in a relationship with Bucky, Y/N prided herself on knowing him quite well but when she’s accidentally teleported back to 1940, Y/N discovers that there is a whole other Bucky that she has yet to meet. The sweet flirt that had everything going for him before his unfortunate capture by HYDRA.

Word Count: 3300+

Warnings: 40’s Bucky & Steve, flirty 40’s Bucky, small 40’s Steve, angst, angry modern Bucky, mentions of building fires, 40's cameras, worry all around, possibly accurate rules of the U.S. government, Steve mentioned as a bookworm or sorts, Bucky liking to read and what, there's isn't much to warn here really

a/n: not proofread. Sorry for the late update; went out of state to pay my family a visit. And I'm also sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter Nine

“The investigation into the whereabouts of Y/N L/N is no longer your concern.”

The older man stared down the rest of them as Tony and Bruce stood off to the side.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked as he took a step forward, his voice deep and pinched with a serious undertone.

“We understand that Y/N L/N was chasing after a criminal known as Henry Tallis and it is because of his affiliations that you will cease your search.” Ross specifically explained without fully answering Steve’s question.

Bucky took an angry step forward, brows dipped and jaw tightly clenched. “What the hell is going on?”

“Need I remind you Barnes that your presence here as an Avenger is all by the pardon of the U.S. government; we can easily revoke that pardon if you don’t want to cooperate with us.” Ross snapped back as the hardened expression grew in depth.

“Y/N is a part of this team, one of our friends, so Bucky has every right to be upset.” Sam quickly butt in to diverge some of the attention of Bucky as he stood toe to toe with the old bastard.

Ross then looked to Sam. “This isn’t a matter of friendship, but rather national security.”

“You think maybe you should elaborate?” Natasha chastised, crossing her arms over her chest.

There was a few seconds of silence as Ross tried to think of what exactly he would say to this team.

“Henry Tallis has had some….influence over certain members of the U.S. government; particularly congress which is responsible for making decisions for the future of the country. And the extent of his influence is classified.”

“Y/N isn’t a part of the U.S. congress so you better start making sense before you push your luck.” Sam quipped back sarcastically, borderline annoyed.

“Is that a threat, Wilson?” Ross asked condescendingly, all the while keeping himself straight as a board to show no sign of backing down.

Though Steve gave no opening for anything else to happen as he stepped between the two. “No one is threatening anyone, we just want to know how this pertains to Y/N. She was never involved with Tallis before this point.”

“That’s of no consequence. The fact of the matter is that this case is now officially government business, not the Avengers.”

“You had to have known we’re not just going to let that happen.” Bruce finally interjected after being silent for most of the conversation.

Ross spared the scientist a look. “None of you have any choice. And if you don’t adhere to this order then you will find yourselves in a lot of trouble.”

Bucky could feel the white hot rage burn deep in his gut, the desire to slug this old bastard almost too tempting to resist. However, despite his anger he knew that he indeed had been pardoned and if he acted rashly, he could very well compromise the life that he spent so much time building up once more.

“If you know what’s good for you, all of you will do as you’re told, and leave this matter to us.” Ross added before turning away and walking out of the lab.

The group fell quiet as they all got lost in their own thoughts as to how they were going to deal with the rapidly changing situation. With the interference of the Secretary of State made it harder to work around compared to before when they had free rein.

Bucky retreated into his thoughts of despair, realizing that even when they had been close to bringing Y/N another obstacle got in their way, pulling her farther away. And if he personally was to blatantly refuse then they could take his freedom.

He gritted his teeth at the thought. If it wasn’t HYDRA, then it was his own country jerking his chain; holding all his deeds as the winter soldier over his head to keep him in line.

Sympathetic with his friend’s quiet frustration, Steve spoke first. “We need to do something.”

“Yeah, but if the government ordered us to stay out of it then what else can we do?” Sam verbalized exactly what they were all thinking.

“We take it up with The Executive Branch, get them to overturn their decision.” Natasha suggested.

Bucky perked up at the idea.

Tony then stepped forward. “A little meet n’ greet; break out the bread and wine.”

“I don’t think they're going to be interested in appetizers when talking about espionage.” Sam scoffed with the hint of a smirk on his lips.

It was then that Tony shrugged his shoulders. “You’d be surprised what people are willing to talk about when there’s a few thousand grams of carbs sitting out for free.”

“Catering aside, if we could somehow convince them that dealing with Tallis is our problem as much as theirs then they might reconsider their position.” Steve added, arms crossed over his chest.

Then Bucky spoke for the first time in several minutes. “We could also try to persuade them that this problem can be dealt with faster if they had our help.”

“Just make sure to do it in a way that makes them think it was their idea. These kinds of guys don’t like asking for help.” Tony quipped a bit passive aggressively before smirking to himself.

“That probably won’t be the hard part.” Natasha huffed humorlessly.

Steve turned to face Natasha, taking a few steps toward her to pat her shoulder. “I know, it’s going to be a lot, but we have to try or else we’ll never get Y/N back.”

“And there’s no way in hell we're leaving her safety up to a bunch of pretentious, self-righteous bastards.” Bucky snarled at the thought even as it left his mouth.

Everyone collectively nodded at Bucky’s determined notion.

Steve gave one more nod in agreement before he spoke up again; the forthright determination seeping into his words. “Right. Let’s get this thing started, and then we’ll figure out how to get Y/N back home.”

________

The moment she stepped outside, the smell of fire permeated the air into her nose.

Y/N could immediately tell that something was a light, and that hypothesis was further proven accurate when she witnessed old fashioned fire trucks zipping past her while a crowd of people followed the path the truck left behind.

Concerned, she sped off in the same direction as the traffic all the while a thick plume of black smoke rose into the blue sky.

An oil fire? She thought as she came closer to the site, though she didn’t have to get that close as she could see the slowly distinguishing flames from a distance.

Beyond the people, Y/N could see fires spitting out from the high floor windows of an apartment building. Many onlookers were tilting their heads back to gaze up at the fire and pointed as the emergency services did their job.

She stared up like many of the others surrounding, taking in the roaring flames; in a way en-trance by the way they moved about in the sky. Strangely the occurrence reminded her of the way people scurried about in the modern time trying to deal with emergencies and the longer she looked on the more it felt as though her mind was trying to teleport her back to her time.

However, the slowly encasing tunnel vision broke when she heard a prominent conversation between two men discussing the incident happening in front of them.

Y/N quickly walked over to them. “Excuse me, what’s going on? How did this happen?”

One of the men, wearing a suit and hat, looked down at her. “Fire started only a few minutes ago. I heard some old man left the stove or something like that.”

Then the other spoke up. “I thought it was some kids messing around with their mom’s cigarettes.”

“Cigarettes don’t make smoke like that.” The first man spoke, quickly turning back to the building.

Y/N gave her attention briefly back at the smoke then turned away, but as she did the bright flash of a light bulb stung her eyes for a moment. The sudden bright exposure to her eyes hurt, making it difficult to see.

She stumbled away from the crowd, back to the sidewalk, to pause for a second. She leaned against the prickling bricks of a random building to rub her eyes free of the tears that were now escaping from them. She knew that it was because of the camera flash right in her face.

Honestly, she hadn’t even known that she had been standing in close proximity to one and also forgot that in her time there were no such things as bulky cameras anymore.

It took a while, but eventually she got the tears under control and was able to see clearly again all the while the smell of smoke and fire soaked the afternoon air. Y/N got up from her place on the wall, and began heading back home.

The way back, she would blink her eyes deliberately to cast away the remaining spots from her vision caused by the camera bulb.

Maybe when she got back, Y/N thought to herself, she could put a cold washcloth over her eyes; see if that helps. And luckily she made it back upstairs without any further trouble, knocking on their front door.

It took a moment, coupled with the sound of steady footsteps, but eventually the door was pulled open.

“Y/N, what happened to your eyes?” Bucky, who’d opened the door, who immediately sounded concerned.

He already reached a hand up to Y/N’s arm, gently guiding her to him as he looked over her teary eyes.

She shook her hand at him, “It’s nothing, there was a building fire a couple blocks from the library and I got in the way of a photographer so the bulb flashed in my face.”

Bringing her forward even more, Bucky closed the door behind her as he guided Y/N to the couch to sit down.

“Y/N?” Steve voiced, appearing from his bedroom.

Y/N didn’t have time to say anything as Bucky spoke again. “Steve can you get a cold, wet washcloth for Y/N’s eyes?”

Steve nodded, swiftly heading to the cabinet across the room and grabbed a small cloth.

“Here, sit down.” Bucky said, again guiding her to sit down on the cushion.

Y/N shook her head. “I’m fine, Bucky, it was just a little light. I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, but when one of those bulbs explodes in your face, it’s not a joke. You think you’re seeing stars.” Bucky refuted, sitting down next to her.

“I assume you speak from experience?” Y/N prompted, sparing him a glance. Though she closed her eyes to elevate them from the normal light inside the apartment.

Bucky nodded while laying his head on her back. “Happened once when I was a kid; my dad tried to take a picture of my ma, my sister and me, and he didn’t know how to. I stepped over to him to try and help him, but he ended up pressing the button right as I stepped in front of the bulb.”

Soon Steve came bounding back to the pair with a wet cloth in tow. He handed the cloth to Bucky, who nudged Y/N to lift her head.

“Here, put this over your eyes. Should help a little.”

Y/N did as he asked, taking the cloth into her hands and pressing it to her closed eyes. When the wet, but cold material pressed against her eyelids, she could feel some semblance of relief.

She let out a sigh. “That feels better.”

“That’s good.” Steve finally said something, now leaning down to sit in the chair off to the right of the couch.

“Now what’s this about a ‘building fire’?” Bucky mentioned a bit more casually than a few seconds ago.

“Oh, right. Well I had just left the library, and as soon as I stepped out I saw all these firetrucks racing down the street so I followed them. Turns out there was an apartment building on fire just up the road; some old guy left the stove on or something.” Y/N explained as she briefly pulled the cloth from her eyes to blink a few times.

“Was anybody hurt?” Steve asked, leaving forward anxiously.

Y/N shook her head. “I’m not sure. I didn’t hear anyone mention anything like that.”

“I’m sure we’ll hear all about it tomorrow morning in the paper.” Bucky said as he retracted his hand from Y/N’s back onto his lap. “Regardless, how was your trip to the library? What did you think?”

Y/N smiled fondly, bringing the washcloth back to her face. “It was good, really good. I love the inside, it looks like something straight out of a movie.”

“That’s what I said.” Steve added with an excited tone to his voice that wasn’t over the top.

Bucky laughed. “Steve used to go there all the time, but ever since we started working, he hasn’t had the time.”

“What about you? Are you an avid reader?” Y/N pointed asked the brunette.

“I wouldn’t say I’m an ‘avid’ reader, but I do like to read on occasion. Though I don’t usually read at the library.” He explained, sitting back against the couch to rest comfortably.

Y/N took the now warm cloth from her mostly healed eyes to cast him a cheeky expression. “Then where, might I ask, do you read?”

He laughed as he ran fingers through his slightly curled locks. “Mostly I read in my room, propped against the headboard. Sometimes I will sit out here too.”

“He says that it’s easier to get into a book if he’s alone; allows him to imagine it all like a film.” Steve stated with enthusiasm that he finally had the chance to describe Bucky’s habits instead of Bucky explaining his away.

Y/N nodded though. “I can understand that. I am much the same way.”

“Great minds think alike?” Bucky winked at her causing her to laugh and bashfully turn away. The gesture made all three of them giggle at the silliness of their behavior, comfortable enough to let themselves relax.

The chime of the clock on the wall interrupted their laughter, making the trio observe the time the hands pointed to.

“Looks like it’s time to start making dinner.” Y/N verbalized all their thoughts, beginning to stand from the couch. “Let me help you…”

Bucky jumped to his feet, hand coming back to now rest on her waist while the other on her arm closest to him and poor Steve had already stood up, ready to keep Y/N from going anywhere too.

“I don’t think so, you had a camera bulb explode in your face today; let me and Steve handle this one. After all, we have been doing it ourselves for a couple of years now.”

“Yeah but…” She began but Bucky refused to let her finish.

“If this is about another way to pay us back, then do so by sitting here and letting your eyes rest.”

Y/N went to argue, her mouth opening but again Bucky stopped her. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

She raised a brow at him, deciding whether or not she wanted to playfully argue with him, however, she thought she should probably listen since she did in fact want to sit for a bit longer.

With a begrudging sigh, she glanced between both of the boys. “Fine.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t burn the place down and if I feel so inclined; I’ll ask for your help.” Bucky jokingly remarked, taking a few steps back away from the living room.

“We just don’t want you to make your eyes worse or anything like that.” Steve defended himself and Bucky.

Y/N moved her body to face the thin man, taking note of his soft expression and timid physique.

“I know, Steve and I appreciate that. And I promise, I won’t move from this spot.” She smirked while letting her legs fold under her weight to plop back down to the sofa.

The moment she made contact with the couch, it made a light thumping noise and Steve laughed quietly before joining Bucky in the kitchen. Even though they were in said kitchen, because of the apartment’s small size, Y/N could still see them from the living room. In fact from the angle she was sitting, she could almost make out the exact hand gestures they made as they were making dinner.

She watched their movements a little while then eventually directed her body to lay across the couch instead of simply sitting. She took the washcloth that Steve had been kind enough to give her earlier, flipped it over to the colder side and placed it back over her eyes. The darkness the cloth provided was a relief to her irsis’ as she had to admit, she hadn’t really wanted to make dinner; she just wanted to be polite.

Y/N laid there for several minutes in silence, listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen as Steve and Bucky made a commotion amongst themselves as they cooked. She also didn’t think of much else other than how it was going to take her eyes to come back to completely normal. She had been on the cusp of accidentally falling asleep when Bucky’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Hey, Y/N, I was thinking…” He started, pausing to give Y/N time to reply.

“Thinkin about what?” She yelled from the couch.

“Since you’re going to be staying with us, and I know you probably will get bored hanging out here all day; maybe we should get you a copy of the key to our apartment.”

The idea gave her pause.

Surely that wasn’t necessary, afterall, she probably wouldn’t be here that long.

“Are you sure? I mean who knows how long I’ll even be here, in your guy’s apartment I mean.” She replied out of her stupor.

“Yeah that’s true, but it takes a while to get a place of your own especially around here and if it’s just you, it would probably be even harder.”

Y/N dragged the wash cloth from her face to keep her thought line from getting distracted, as if having something in her way would somehow distract her. Her eyes stared at the white colored ceiling, mimicking the way she got lost in her mind that morning after she’d woken up.

Did she really need a copy of their key to their apartment? Would her time there really justify needing access to someone else’s place?

The answer should’ve been no, no it wasn’t necessary, but the unfortunate thing of it was, she didn’t know. She had no way of knowing how long she would be trapped in the 1940’s or if she would even-

She must’ve gotten lost a lot longer than she thought because she didn’t immediately register that Bucky had said her name a few times.

“So what do you think? Good, bad idea?”

“U-uh, well…” Y/N stuttered, trying to reorganize herself. “W-whatever you think is best, Bucky.”

Bucky continued. “I can stop by the locksmith tomorrow after work, get you a copy then you can come and go as you like.”

Y/N absently nodded, not realizing Bucky couldn’t see her. “Y-yeah, that uh…that sounds good.”

Neither one of them said anything after that as Bucky became enthralled in a conversation with Steve as they made dinner and Y/N got so caught up in her thoughts that she, briefly, forgot where she was.

Even though she agreed to have an extra key, she kept trying to rationalize the reason why she would need one as Bucky’s explanation did not satisfy her.

It would only be because of convenience, only until she could leave, only until she could figure out how the device worked.

Only until she could go home.

________

Tagged Profiles

@honeyrydernot @spn-obession @tinyminxie @fluffybunnyu @saintmagx @hopelessromantic423

#marvel #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes series #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader

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ambrossart · 1 year ago

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Hiii🎈 how are you adapting to your new life after the move and the wedding? Hope everything is great!!

I've been inspired by the last posts with the asks (I love to read them). Aaand I thought of a few questions...I hope not to bother you too much

For DWM, I was thinking...are they going to approach the infamous campaign again? Like, she felt pretty guilty about what happened,are these feelings going to resurface sometime? For example going on dates and doing things together will take them to think/discuss about what could've been if they weren't so stubborn/oblivious?

Eddie said he would ask her out on her freshman year...if she never killed him do you think they would have been friends for the 2 years of distance (middle - high school)? Or they would stop hanging out and just met again when she finally was a freshman?..2 years is A LONG TIME especially at that age.

Also, you wrote that in order to learn d&d she went to play with kids in the Wheeler's basement, is this going to be referenced in the side stories? You hinted Gareth doesn't like her..will the youngest guys of Hellfire have a nice opinion of her?

Finally, not an answer but an appreciation. I'm not a native english speaker so it takes me a while to get all the details. I LOVED the parallels in the chapters for example the openings of chapter 1 and 9, when they were both skeptical. She was caught off guard when Chance invited her to prom because he is popular and on the basketball team while she was just Chrissy's friend. And he was caught off guard because he thought she was popular and he was just the trailer park kid. I don't know if it was intentional but while rereading I was upset I didn't notice it before.

Lastly for Paper men, I was wondering if Evelyn's family will still present in future updates, it's so refreshing to read about a positive-non toxic-supporting family, in such toxic environment. I have to say.. I'm team Vic for the win, as much as Evelyn and Patrick's interactions show really good chemistry and I'm intrigued about her and Henry's past, they are too toxic to deserve that pure little heart.

I always apologize for the long questions but I end up writing more and more each time, so I get it if you don't want to answer.😂

Have a nice weekend 🥰

Hey! I'm almost fully settled in. It's a much smaller apartment than what we're used to, but we're making the best of it. Thanks for asking!

Now, moving on to your questions!

1. In regards to the campaign itself, they're totally gonna replay it at some point over the summer because they never got to finish it together. So once Scottie gets out of prison, they're all gonna sit down and play it again, properly this time, and the Reader will probably be tempted to sacrifice Eddie again, just for giggles. She's such a troll. 😂 But in regards to those feelings of guilt and regret, I think they both would prefer to move past it and focus on the present. They only have a couple months before the Reader leaves for college, and they don't wanna waste time dwelling on the past. They've already had their big heart-to-heart. Now they just wanna enjoy their time together. But as we get closer to the end of summer, I think a lot of those old feelings will inevitably resurface because neither of them knows what will happen. I wouldn't be surprised if the Reader has a massive anxiety attack. She might even consider breaking up with him in order to spare herself the heartache of another separation because it would be 100x more painful than before. She's not a kid with a crush. She's a woman in love. The more time they spend together, the stronger her feelings get, which means she has a lot more to lose, so I could definitely see that triggering another fight-or-flight response.

2. If she hadn't betrayed Eddie, they would have absolutely remained friends during those two years. Yes, it is a long time, but Eddie is a very loyal person and he values his friends (because he doesn't have that many). This is something Eddie wishes he had told her when they were kids, but that would have meant putting himself out there and opening himself to potential hurt. At that point, Eddie wasn't 100% sure of the Reader's intentions (if she genuinely wanted to be his friend or if she had some kinda ulterior motive) and, like you said, two years is a long time. A lot could happen in two years. She could be fully embraced by the popular kids and not need him anymore. That uncertainly alone would make him hesitate. But yes, if Eddie had reassured her, if she hadn't betrayed him, they would have stayed friends and let their romantic relationship naturally develop over time. It would've been like this unspoken thing between them. They both would just know that eventually they'll start dating, and neither of them would be in any rush to get to the finish line. They'll be perfectly happy and content with their friendship and then take that next step when the time is right, which would probably be when the Reader's about 15.

And let me just say, Eddie would be SO FREAKIN EXCITED to have her in school with him again. If he has his license, he's picking her up and driving her to school. If he doesn't, he's gonna be waiting for her in front of the building (like she used to wait for him 🥺), ready to give her a private tour. He's been waiting two years for this day, so he's gonna do whatever he can to make it special.

3. You know, I was going to include a scene of all the boys trying to teach her D&D (and given how bad she is at the game, clearly none of their lessons sank in 😂), but there just wasn't enough content there. I imagine at first they would be super eager to teach someone their favorite game, but over time they would become increasingly frustrated with her for sure. Anyway, I don't know if I'm ever gonna write that scene, but I do have others planned that will showcase their relationship well enough. I could definitely see her having a special soft spot for Will. I think his passion for D&D would remind her of Eddie. Plus she would be intrigued by his artistic abilities and would commission him for random drawings of her and Eddie's D&D characters.

4. Yes, the similar openings for chapters one and nine were completely intentional. 😊 The initial plan was to have nine and ten be one chapter, so the final chapter would mirror the first chapter. It ended up being way too long, though, so I split it into two chapters. It kinda ruined the effect, but oh well. 🤷🏻‍♀️

5. Evelyn's family will definitely be in future updates. Her family is extremely important to her, so they're not going anywhere. 😉

And I'm not gonna lie, I'm completely Team Vic here. I love their relationship and I think he and Evelyn would be absolutely adorable together. HOWEVER, personal feelings aside, the reason Victor isn't listed as an official pairing is because, compared to the other two pairings, you're not gonna see much romance between Vic and Evelyn. At this point, Evelyn has already moved on. She's painfully, hopelessly, and foolishly in love with someone else. Vic knows this. He doesn't like it, but he respects it, and right now all he cares about is righting his wrongs and salvaging their friendship.

Whew, that was a lot, but it was really fun! Thank you for taking the time to write all these awesome questions. Hopefully I answered them well enough ❤️

#answered asks #thanks for the ask!#paper men #dwm #dancing with myself #ambrossart

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vickyvicarious · 3 years ago

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For the ask game: Rumplestiltskin, please!

Headcanon A: realistic

This might even be canon, I can’t remember since it’s been a while and I stopped watching midway through the Camelot arc. But I like thinking about the tropes of determinism and self-fulfilling prophecies with Rumple specifically. Those spinsters he met + the seer who he met seem so linked to the Fates from greco-roman myth to me. I absolutely hated the Author storyline and don’t subscribe to that, but I do really like the idea of Rumple seeing the future as Dark One and building all his plans around his glimpses, but in doing so he makes all sorts of choices that turn against him later. More because of how he carries out his manipulations to ensure the events he sees come true, than because they happen. For example he knows Emma is gonna be the Savior, and he knows he has to be Dark One to make it happen so he rejects Belle, but maybe he didn’t have to be the Dark One after all, and if he weren’t trying so hard to fulfill his vision things would still happen some other way that he’d be happier for. That kind of thing, if that makes sense?

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

Allow me to point you towards my short but beloved “fashionista rumple” tag. Oh, yes, he very carefully curates those looks. He has opinions on everyone’s fashion choices. If he were ever to have retired to normal non-villainous life that doesn’t revolve around hoarding power or taunting people, his ideal career would be a personal stylist or clothing designer.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

I’m gonna resist my impulse to go down the literal heart-crushing road here, tempting as it is. Instead, let’s say this... Rumple has never been happy without a caveat. More specifically, he’s never been satisfied where he is. He is so insecure and paranoid and hateful of himself/dismissive of others. He’s this giant control freak and always has to be smug and have plans within plans within plans... The closest he ever comes to simply enjoying himself in the moment is with Belle and Bae, but even then he can never relax. He’s too afraid to trust them, too hungry to prove himself, too resentful or guilty about the past. Every chance he’s ever had to be happy has been wasted, almost all of them due to his own issues and actions. And Rumple is completely self-aware about this, and it just makes things even worse in his head because he can never stop thinking.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

....I’m so sorry, the one thing that keeps popping into my head is bloodbender!Rumple from my OUATLA AU. I still love that verse so much.

Um, in terms of actual showverse I would really have loved going more into Rumple and Henry’s relationship. Even if Henry still doesn’t make the cut to be one of the people Rumple cares about enough to alter his behavior somewhat (an exclusive list indeed), in my mind there’s some conflict leading up to that decision. Some more scenes that appear as soon as Rumple learns who Henry is, and then more whenever Neal isn’t around. Oh, also I really like thinking about his relationship of weird mentor/respect/manipulator with Emma (I wrote a meta on it once actually). I guess my reject canon change there would be him teaching Emma magic instead of Regina. A lot of interesting character interactions there, especially with Killian too.

send me a character and I'll answer with 4 headcanons

#ouat #rumplestiltskin #rumple #inbox games #anonymous #replies #headcanons

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iamakiller · 4 years ago

Text

Phase 2

Killer Charlie is no more. Or rather, he is changing ...

I am now a work in progress; a rough draft of the person I hope to become.

I cannot alter the past, nor erase my actions, but I can try to do better.

It is all any of us can hope to do, I think.

About Me:

I am a 30-40 year old man, recently retired from a fairly successful career as a theater director on and off Broadway. I am divorced, with an eight year-old son named Henry, and am now based on the West Coast for the foreseeable future. I am truly blessed to have a wonderful, supportive, forgiving wife @direnightshade, who is expecting our first child. I have recently begun attending therapy on a regular basis, in the hope that it will help me process my traumatic upbringing, and fully correct some objectionable behaviors I developed as a result.

This Blog:

This is a space for me to share my thoughts and my writing, if and when I choose to do so. I am always pleased to receive Asks and Messages, and do endeavor to respond to them in as timely a manner as possible. I am currently rather interested in the idea of collaborating with some of you through Role Playing, though I have never tried it before, so perhaps I will not be any good at it ...

Up until now, this blog has been rather a free-for-all. However, if you have read and understood all of the above, I am sure you can appreciate that there must now be some sort of order. I have prepared something of an FAQ below the cut. Please read it carefully, and do let me know if there’s anything you wish for me to clarify, or if there is a question I should add to the list.

Thank you for your support so far, and your infinite patience. I look forward to beginning this next phase of my time here on Tumblr.

FAQ

Can I send you an Ask?

Yes, absolutely. Asks on virtually any topic are welcomed and encouraged, but please be mindful of my status as a soon-to-be-married man and do not try to tempt me with your wiles. Anon stays on because I know that some of you are shy, but be warned that anything I receive is liable to be responded to in the way I see fit.

Do you respond to Messages?

I do. In fact, Messages are likely to be responded to more rapidly than Asks. Due to their private and more casual nature, it is far easier for me to write a quick reply. As long as you are not trying to seduce me, I will happily converse with you, and I daresay you will find me quite different to what you were expecting.

Will you Role Play with me? What kind of Role Play will you engage in?

There are some wonderful writers out there, and I would love to collaborate with you! Some of you have already reached out to me, and I am looking forward to getting started. Should anyone wish to engage in Role Play with me, the best method is to send me a private message so we can see if we can come to some sort of arrangement.

Before you contact me, please be aware that as an avid writer and a bit of an art snob, I am most interested in storytelling, plot, and character development. It is fine if there are some more suggestive elements included in our RP - so long as it is understood by both parties that this our exchange is purely fictional - but I am not interested in participating in anything that is purely of a sexual nature. It is about as interesting to me as reading an Ikea instruction manual.

I apologize to any of you who may be disappointed by the above, but I have recently been informed by my therapist that I am not only allowed to set boundaries, but I do not have to explain myself.

Any rules about tagging? How should I tag my interactions with you?

Please tag all public interactions with my posts as #iamakiller to ensure that anyone who wishes to erase me from existence is not exposed to my content.

I will be tagging any RP content as #roleplay to designate it as such.

In general, please pay careful attention to the tags I use. I try to be thorough, but do let me know if there is anything I need to add.

Is it true that it takes you days to reply to people? And sometimes you don’t reply at all?

How rude! It is true that my response times are sometimes protracted depending on my schedule, my mood, or my muse. To answer the second question: for the most part, any lack of response is simply due to the fact that Tumblr is a lawless place where messages vanish into the ether, and the @ function doesn’t always work. It is seldom anything personal.

Your content is bad and you should feel bad.

I do apologize. Please block me and filter out #iamakiller.

Will you kill me?

No. I’m far too busy for that.

Can I call you Daddy?

DEAR GOD NO.

#phase 2 #PSA #this post is a work in progress #this arrangement is a work in progress #i am a work in progress #happy to clarify and amend as necessary

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realm-sweet-realm · 4 years ago

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Between Worlds

Well, you guys asked for a story about these cryptids after I finished Prison Cell. Well, I couldn’t get all of them into one one-off, obviously, but I hope you like it! There is going to be some Creatorship. Also, cryptids in this story aren’t a metaphor for disabilities, homosexuality, or anything else- they’re just cryptids.

---

It was the night after Henry’s senior prom. He had had a great time dancing with his friends and could have almost pretended that everything in his life was normal.

Most people knew that Henry was mute, but most didn’t know that he didn’t need to sleep or eat. Most didn’t know that he could sense other cryptids in the surrounding area. When he was a kid, he had made the mistake of telling someone about a cat-like one that he’d seen rummaging in the trash. Having to see it wrestled to the ground and shot minutes later had taught him to never do so again, and certainly to never reveal his own differences to full humans. There were maybe six cryptids in Henry’s home town. Henry knew their location, and knew that all but one of them weren’t doing well. He even remembered when one of them- one of them hardly older than Henry was now- had died. It was like a light going off on a radar board. Henry thanked his lucky stars every day that he looked human and could live a human life. Most weren’t. Most couldn’t.

Henry didn’t communicate with most of the cryptids in his area. He’d already befriended one, and taking care of him was work enough for Henry.

He’d been six years old when he’d found Joey rummaging through their cupboards at night. Joey had been small, then, and a bit more animalistic, with his gangly too-long limbs and crow-skull face. Joey had explained to Henry that his parents had abandoned him, and Henry had allowed Joey to sleep in his bed that night. From that point on, Henry kind of looked after Joey, even as he got bigger and harder to manage.

It was a thankful thing that Henry didn’t have to sleep. It had allowed Henry to go out on his own at night. It was at night that he could play with Joey. It was also at night that they, thankfully, found an abandoned house in the woods where Joey could stay at. It was a good thing, too- little six-year-old Joey could hide in Henry’s room easily enough, but since then he’d grown from having the body of an awkward, bipedal fawn to being easily seven feet tall and somewhat more proportionate. He’d gotten scarier-looking, too. Maybe the little crow skull and baby claws he’d once had would have gained him some sympathy back then. The fearsome talons he had now? The elegant curved skull with the terrifyingly long, sharp beak? Not so much.

It didn’t help that Joey had done some pretty shocking things to survive at this point. Muggings. Hunting the wild animals around his home with his bare hands. Thievery, including robbing people’s houses and on occasion shredding their guard dogs to ribbons with his claws. Henry had gotten a job as soon as he was old enough so he could to help pay Joey’s living expenses- again, not having to sleep was a benefit, and few people understood how Henry managed to keep on top of his studies while working so hard. Of course, Joey still stole sometimes, mostly out of necessity.

Despite the challenges, though, Henry did love Joey and understood that he didn’t choose to be like this, and it was nice to have someone he didn’t have to hide his cryptid nature from. That was why he was heading to Joey’s house in the woods- it was high time that they had a talk about the future. In the past, Joey had expressed terror at the thought of Henry leaving him. So Henry wouldn’t. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Joey leaned down and Henry kissed him on the beak, as he always did when they met up.

“How was prom, dear?” Joey asked.

Good, Henry signed.

“Good.”

Can I stay the night? There’s so much we have to talk about.

“Of course you can.”

I thought about what I want in the future. I want to help cryptids like you. I thought for a while that I could just leave this life behind, but I'd always be able to feel you in the back of my head, and it would kill me if you died and I didn’t know how or why or if I could prevent it. I just don’t know how to make that my life.

“Well, there’s always the studio,” Joey suggested. “We could hire other cryptids.”

That’s a castle in the sky, Joey. I don’t know how to get the money for that. And you might have the time to draw all day, but I haven’t been practicing as much as I should. Balancing work and school, you know. Henry stopped signing and looked to Joey for answers. None came. Well, I guess I don’t have to figure it out right now. I guess I could just work for a while until I figure it out. Let’s just go upstairs. Enjoy our night together.

Joey’s room was dark this time of night, illuminated by a lantern. The walls were coated with Joey’s art. It really was impressive stuff. At one point, Henry had been the better artist between the two of them, but not anymore. That always filled Joey with a sense of both pride in himself and shame that he’d stifled Henry.

“Henry,” Joey said, putting a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “I’ve had this idea for a while... the idea that you could apply for an art school using my art. I mean, you’re talented. You could sharpen your skills again over the summer. Then at art school you could figure out how to make the studio happen. What do you say?”

Henry shook his head. If I go to an art school in another city, I’ll have to leave you behind. And art school won’t teach me how to start a studio. It’ll just teach me how to work at one.

“Right,” Joey said, disappointed. Living on the outside of society had left him dreadfully naïve as to how it worked. “Well, It’s not just about that. It’s about making up for the trouble I’ve caused you. Letting you be free of me for a while. And while you’re gone, I can meet other cryptids. Try to be more independent.”

Henry hesitated. Leaving Joey to his own devices would mean that Joey would be providing for all of his needs through theft and violence, and stood a greater chance of being caught.

“Just do one semester. For me. Alright?”

Henry nodded, then gave Joey a hug. The plan was sealed. The summer went as planned. Henry’s artistic skills came back quickly. They also enjoyed their time together, going for walks down by the river, stargazing, fantasizing about a world where he could take Joey with him. The summer was over too fast, and the two parted ways.

---

The closer Henry got to the new city, the more cryptids Henry could detect, like blips on a radar. He ignored them. He and Joey had talked about this- this was to be Henry’s time to be human, and human he would be.

It was a commitment that was hard to keep. Henry missed having someone who understood what it meant to be different. Sometimes Henry would detect a cryptid who was right near him and get tempted.

One day, he broke. He’d detected a while ago that the older woman that sometimes sat next to him in art history class was a cryptid, though he didn’t know what kind. The strange thing- or it would have been strange if Henry didn’t know what she was- was that the woman looked identical to his mother.

After mulling over how to approach her, Henry had decided to just be honest with her. After they’d chatted a bit and were in private, Henry admitted to being a cryptid, and to what his powers were. It was a risky move- the woman, open-minded as she seemed, might have reported him. Instead, she smiled.

“Oh. Cool, I’m a cryptid, too. One of my powers is that I appear as people’s dream woman.” It was strange and kind of refreshing to find someone so open about it.

What would a little kid see? Henry wrote on the pad of paper he was using to communicate.

“Maybe their best female friend. But most often? Their mom.”

Henry went red.

Allison threw her head back and laughed. “Henry, when there’s only one person in the room, I can see what form I’m taking. And yeah, it doesn’t mean you’re a manchild. A mother is a pretty common one for grown women or, you know, men like you. But it’s okay. I mean, why would freaks like us care about something as small as who you love? Anyhow. The good thing about my powers is that some of them- not this one, though- can be taught. Want to hang out sometime?”

Absolutely, Henry wrote.

---

On what was actually less than two hundred miles away but felt like the other side of the planet, Joey was on the hunt for cryptids as well. Henry had left him with a vague map of where the handful of cryptids around town were. Of course, there was no guarantee that any of them would be friendly or even sapient, and unfortunately, all of them had proven extremely good at hiding. He’d nearly given up on finding other cryptids when he found one of them one fateful night.

Joey had stolen, among other things, money from someone’s house the night before, but couldn’t exactly go into stores to use it. So, instead he was hiding in a back alley, waiting for some street person to come along. Street people were a blessing to Joey- he could have been Satan himself and they still wouldn’t object to being paid to go into a few stores to buy things for him.

A blond, baby-faced man in a hoodie turned into the alleyway, prompting Joey to crawl out of hiding and approach him. The man was scared, unsurprisingly, and adopted a defensive stance. Once Joey was close enough, the other man lunged, struck Joey right in a wound that he’d acquired a few days ago, tackled him over.

“How did you do that!?” Joey demanded of the man. It seemed impossible. Joey was experienced at scraps and must have had over a foot and a good fifty or sixty pounds on the guy.

“Extremely good luck,” the man said with a smile, helping Joey up. “Sorry bout’ that. I thought you were dangerous.” He then continued on his way. It was then that Joey realized that the man didn’t look homeless- he was clean, healthy, uninjured, shaven and all that. Joey ran to keep up with him.

“Do you walk home this way every night? You know, through a back alley at midnight in the bad side of town?”

“Yeah, mostly. Sometimes you just gotta have time to yourself, you know? A lot of people don’t like me. Say I’m a bad omen. Which I am, but I can’t help it. When ah was a boy, I wanted a dog fer Christmas. So, one of my parents’ friends’ house burned down and he had to move in with us temporarily- and they brought their dog. That kinda thing happened to me a lot before ah figured out the pattern. So, I, uh, have to try and make sure I don’t want anything too hard. It ain’t so bad once you get used to it.” The boy’s face showed sadness. Clearly it did bother him.

“Oh. Well, for a person who likes time to himself, you sure seem eager to talk to people. What’s your name, kid?”

“Wally.”

“Wally. Well, I don’t know about you, but I think our meeting was fate. You must have wanted to make friends who were like you! And that just so happens to be what I want. Why don’t we stick together.”

“...That might not be a good idea for ya.”

“I’ll take my chances. I mean, just try to want my well-being and it should happen, right?”

Wally stopped walking. They were at the end of the back alley. Two cops approached them and then fell into a man-hole, saving Joey from having to run from them. “Ah mean... it might happen that way.” Wally’s voice cracked.

“It will. Just trust me. We’ll make it work.”

---

By the end of the semester, Henry was putting more time into cryptid hunting than his studies. Allison was his assistant. She taught him some minor potions and charms before their first “mission.” Henry had thought it was unnecessary. He was wrong. The cryptid they met was a harpy-like creature with poisoned claws, and they’d had to kill it in self-defense.

There were good cryptids, too. Human-like ones. Ones Henry met on campus who walked the border line between “cryptid,” and “gifted, disabled, or both.” There were even a few animal-like cryptids that Henry and Allison could do nothing for except feeding them and giving them some water. But the majority of what set off Henry’s radar were monsters.

Henry had started off excited about “cryptid hunting,” as Allison put it, but now, it was draining him emotionally and frankly scaring him half to death. Allison never tired of it. Allison kept dragging him out. She wasn’t oblivious to his distress and tried to debrief him with comforting words and alcohol (at one point, stuff stronger than alcohol, which Henry had refused), but her lust for adventure was stronger than her empathy.

At the end of the semester, Henry returned home with mediocre grades and no real desire to go back to university. Maybe he would go to some other school and be a person instead of a cryptid this time- the credits he’d accumulated would still count at the next place. Maybe he’d go back to the same place but stop cryptid hunting- which would mean either setting some serious boundaries with Allison or cutting her out of his life, as well as ignoring a pretty significant part of himself. At least he had cryptid friends now. Or, maybe he’d just enter the workforce. He’d have to talk it over with his parents. And Joey. Back at home now, Henry could sense that the cryptids in this town were all clustered together now, matching up with what Joey had said in his letters about forming a little pack. Henry hoped that the cryptids Joey had found weren’t too frightening.

When Henry arrived to the little house in the woods, he could see that a large section had been added onto it. Good. It honestly worried Henry sometimes that Joey was spending so much time in that musty, moldering wooden house. The door was answered by a creature with glossy black eyes and a black pit for a mouth.

I’ll get Joey, the creature signed. It knew sign language. Had Joey found other mutes, or had this creature learned just for him? It didn’t matter. Henry was home, and Joey had made himself a family. Like always, Henry met Joey with a kiss on the beak.

“Welcome home, Henry. We have so much to catch up on.”

That night, Henry ate with Joey’s family and slept curled up in Joey’s arms. It was hard being between worlds. And even though he had the capacity to leave the world of cryptids behind, a big part of him didn’t want to.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #joey drew #Henry Stein #allison pendle #wally franks #Aus #cryptids #my fanfiction #creatorship

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wistfulcynic · 5 years ago

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To Keep It All The Year (3 /4)

Anyone up for a spot of pure fantasy in which people are essentially good and their positive actions are rewarded with deserved happiness? Yeah, me too. It’s been a WEEK, for me and @katie-dub and anyone else in the UK with a conscience and a shred of human decency, so let’s all have a bit of an escape.

SUMMARY: Killian Jones is a broken man, betrayed by everyone and everything he thought he could believe in. He’s all but given up on life until a fateful meeting with bartender Emma Swan and her son Henry gives him a reason to live again, and a chance to redeem his past.

All it takes is a little Christmas magic.

On AO3 | Tumblr: Part One | Part Two

Thanks as ever to @thisonesatellite who keeps me fuelled with whisky and lebkuchen, a paring ordained by the gods, and also because MAGICAL WREATHS OMG WUTTT ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Tagging all the folks from the last tag list, PLEASE do let me know if you want to be added or removed. @kmomof4 @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @darkcolinodonorgasm @snowbellewells @stahlop @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @jonirobinson64 @tiganasummertree @ohmightydevviepuu @shardminds @jennjenn615 @superchocovian @teamhook

PART THREE: THE FUTURE

Killian moves out of his apartment that very afternoon. He can’t bear to spend another moment there. He needs a fresh start in a new place, one that will encourage him to be better rather than indulging the worst of him.

Everything he owns, every single thing, fits into a large satchel and a medium-sized suitcase. Packing it all takes less than an hour. Killian drops his key into the landlord’s mailbox and heads across town to a guesthouse he found with a quick internet search, not a great place but his finances are limited and it’s still better than that apartment. There’s an actual bed, for a start, and part of him is tempted to crawl into it and drink until his chest stops aching and he no longer sees the crushed look in Emma’s eyes each time he closes his own, but he has made promises to himself and he intends to keep them.

So instead he falls back on the least damaging of his old crutches and heads out for a walk. The guesthouse is a bit rough around the edges but the neighbourhood whose western boundary it marks is a vast improvement over his old one. There’s an elegance and dignity in the slightly run-down buildings here, like they’ve aged gracefully and in comfort without any of the desperation and squalor that characterised his old place. They’ve kept their head up, even through hard times, and they haven’t given in. A lesson lurks in there somewhere, he thinks.

He’s been wandering for about half an hour when his attention is caught by a door. Not a particularly remarkable door, but has a jolly little Christmas wreath hung upon it which brings a smile to Killian’s face. Something about those little wreaths always draws him in, he thinks. Something he can’t quite put his finger on...

The door is made of wide wooden planks painted a deep forest green and boasts an old-fashioned brass knocker in the shape of a roaring lion. It belongs to what appears to be a small bookshop, and as Killian pushes it open he feels a stirring of eagerness that he hasn’t felt in years. He can’t remember the last time he read a good book. Something layered and complex, he thinks, with a well-crafted world that he can dig into and lose himself for a while.

The shop is surprisingly spacious, with row upon row of tall wooden bookshelves lined up straight as soldiers along its walls and a broad central aisle leading to the till and a small cafe at the back. Twin spiral staircases rise up on each side to a mezzanine where he can see more shelves and a cosy reading area with overstuffed sofas and armchairs and a few scattered beanbags of the perfect size for children. Killian walks slowly down the centre aisle, aware his mouth is hanging open and barely resisting the urge to spin around, gaping in awe. Were he asked to give a description of his ideal bookshop it would be precisely this, he thinks, from the aged patina on the shelves to the fluffy grey cat curled on a cushion in the window, to the truly dizzying array of books. It is magnificent.

“Can I help you find anything?” Killian shakes himself from his reverie and turns to see a petite brunette in towering heels smiling a friendly smile.

“Ah, no thank you, lass,” he replies, “I’m just br—you know what, actually, yes. You can.”

He explains what sort of book he’s after and the woman—Belle, according to her name tag—leads him around the shop in search of it. She makes excellent recommendations, a fair number of which he’s already read, but after an enjoyable hour or so Killian has a small armload of books he can’t wait to crack open and perhaps, he hopes, a friend.

After he pays for them he and Belle stand at the till for another ten minutes or so, chatting amiably. Killian formally introduces himself and informs Belle that he’s just moved to the neighbourhood and is out exploring. He’s just about to ask if she knows a good place to eat when he spots the small sign taped to the cash register.

“Are you hiring?” he says in surprise.

“I am. I could use an assistant three or four days a week,” says Belle. “You interested?”

“I might be,” Killian replies. He’ll need a job to afford the new life he intends to build for himself, he thinks, and working in this lovely little shop with Belle would be a dream come true.

“Any retail experience?” she asks.

“None. But I’m a fast learner and fairly widely read.”

“I’ll say,” says Belle wryly. “Okay, let’s give it a try. I can start you on—” she names an hourly wage that has Killian’s eyes widening.

“Is that the standard market rate for a bookshop assistant?”

“Nope.” Belle’s voice is cheerful and also makes it clear she doesn’t intend to answer any questions on the subject.

“Er—okay. Well, that would be more than satisfactory.” Enough to give him the new beginning he needs, he thinks. More than.

Belle nods. “When can you start?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Perfect.”

—

Belle lives above the bookshop, in a two-bedroom flat that she claims can get a little lonely. She claims this a week into the new year when she learns that Killian is looking for a place to live, and insists on showing him the spare room that very minute.

Her flat is tidy but comfortable and the room she shows him plainly furnished, with polished hardwood floors and plaster walls painted a warm ivory. A large chest of drawers takes up one corner and in another is a metal framed bed spread with a quilt that he’s sure is handmade. There’s a single wide window framed by soft yellow curtains that turn the afternoon light golden and a single framed poster on the wall, of Waterhouse’s Miranda. Killian stares at the painting for some time, thinking it should probably upset him. Instead he feels soothed, by the room’s gentle simplicity and by the shipwreck safely tucked away in the brushstrokes of an oil painting. He moves in the next day.

He and Belle get on splendidly. Their habits mesh in a comfortable way, both being meticulously tidy early risers, equally content to spend their evenings in heated argument about books as in the silent companionship of reading or watching television. Killian almost wishes their easy friendship could develop into something more, though it does occur to him that he’s never had a woman as just a friend before and perhaps this is a thing that might do him some good.

That and he still dreams of soft golden hair, and green eyes that see into his soul.

He begins to eat regular healthy meals, sharing the cooking duties with Belle, and after a month or so of that he joins a gym. He still goes on his long, rambling walks but far less frequently than before, using them as an opportunity to explore new neighbourhoods rather than a desperate attempt to escape his demons and he never, never stops at the docks.

He also starts seeing a therapist, on Belle’s gentle suggestion after one too many nights of being woken up by his nightmares. She can recommend one personally, she confesses, for the very same reason that she is able to pay him so well. The bookshop is financed by hush money—she spits the words—her lavish divorce settlement from a man who controlled and abused her for years and when she finally managed to leave him tracked her down and nearly killed her. She grips Killian’s hand tightly as she tells him this, tears rolling unheeded down her cheeks, yet there is a ring of triumph in her voice as she explains how he signed over more than half his assets to her in exchange for her promise not to prosecute, or sell tales of his abuse to the press.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken it,” she says. “Maybe I should have exposed him instead, or pressed charges. But he could weather bad press or bribe his way out of jail time while it will take him years to build his business back up again. Decades, even. And meanwhile I have my shop. And my freedom.”

Belle knows as well as Killian does how heavily tainted money can weigh on person’s conscience, and that the only way to bear its weight is by turning it to something good. She’s a survivor, just like him. Just like Emma.

Slowly, so slowly, Killian feels the parts of himself he thought were broken beyond repair begin to mend, and every day he focuses on that healing. He nourishes his body with exercise and good food and he nourishes his mind with books and conversation. He nourishes his soul as well, with his therapy sessions and with the bookshop’s weekly children’s story time, which Belle insists he take charge of after catching him watching wistfully from behind a shelf as she sat surrounded by a semicircle of rapt faces, reading an adventure book.

He was thinking of Henry.

He thinks of Henry often, and of course of Emma. Every time he rambles through a new part of the city he wonders if they are living there, perhaps in one of the sprawling houses with soft green lawns in the residential areas, or maybe in an airy loft in one of the edgier, artier neighbourhoods. He hopes that wherever they are they’ve found a true home of their own, with security and comfort and reliable childcare for Henry. Emma no longer needs to work so she could study full time if she wished, or do something else entirely. She wouldn’t strictly speaking need to do anything, but if Killian knows her—and despite the short duration of their acquaintance he’s quite certain he does—she will want to keep studying, for her own satisfaction and to find a career that suits her. Emma Swan could never be content sitting around all day doing nothing. She would want to do some good in the world, regardless of her personal circumstances. The kindness she showed to a strange man in a bar when she had next to nothing of her own was proof enough of that.

It hurts to think of them but it’s a good sort of pain, a gentle, bittersweet ache that warms his heart, nothing like the tearing agony he felt for so many years whenever he thought of Liam. Thoughts of Emma and Henry inspire him, keep him moving steadily along this new path he’s chosen to tread. Though he’s certain he’ll never see either of them again he wants to live his life in a way that honours his feelings for them.

He doesn’t go back to the bar where he and Emma met, not often. It’s just a place to drink without the magic her presence lent it, and drinking is a thing he’s trying to do less of these days. But the following Christmas Eve he finds himself back in his old neighbourhood standing before the plain brown door. There’s a jolly little Christmas wreath hung upon it, and Killian knows by now that he’s powerless in the face of those wreaths. He lets it draw him in through the door and over to a stool at the bar where he orders the expensive rum Emma gave him last year and sips it slowly as the memories that infuse the very air of this place both warm and pain him. He’ll allow himself this, he thinks, just this one small lapse. He’s worked hard all year, he can have one evening of self pity. His Christmas gift to himself.

“Hey, sailor.”

The voice is impossible and yet he hears it, turns towards it in astonishment then scrambles to his feet.

“Emma!” he gasps. He stares at her, drinks in the sight of her, of the face that’s haunted his dreams for a year lit up by a bright smile. “What—what are—I had no idea you’d be here.”

“I almost wasn’t,” she replies. “I was at a Christmas party across town, actually. but then I just had the strangest urge to come here and so here I am.”

“It’s wonderful to see you, love.” His astonishment ebbs and gives way to a fierce and fearsome joy. He can’t believe she’s here, right in front of him and real, and so lovely he aches to look at her. “How are you? How’s Henry?”

“Henry’s great. I’m great. We’re great.” She laughs.

“That’s... well, it’s great.” His smile is beginning to hurt his cheeks, but he could no more stop smiling it than he could make the Earth spin backwards.

“It is,” she agrees. “Listen, um, can we sit down somewhere?”

“Of course. Can I get you a drink?”

“Yeah.” Something shifts in her smile, sharpens it in a way that steals his breath. “I’ll have a rum.”

He orders one for her and another for himself and they sit together in a small, round booth in the corner of the bar. It’s cosy and intimate and it envelops them, making Killian’s heart pound and his mouth go dry.

Emma seems unfazed, giving him a cool once-over as he slides in beside her on the leather seat. There’s a new confidence in her demeanour now, the kind of quiet assurance that forms in people who answer to no one but themselves. It sits well on her, he thinks. Comfortably, like it was always waiting for her to slip it on.

“You look good,” she tells him.

“Um.” He feels himself flush and gulps some rum to wet his throat. “Thank you. You look lovely, but then you always did.”

She observes him in silence for a moment, sipping her own drink. “I looked for you, you know,” she says.

“You did?”

“I did. Do you know how many Killian Joneses there are in the phone book?”

“Er—no.”

“Zero,” she declares. “Including you.”

“Ah. Well I don’t really—”

“But,” she interrupts, “as it turns out, I’m pretty good at finding people, even when they don’t want to be found. I found you, eventually. In that bookstore where you work.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I was going to come in but you, ah, weren’t alone. I saw you through the window, standing with a woman. Laughing.” She stares into her glass. “I’d never seen you laugh like that before. Or at all.”

“A woman?” Killian frowns in confusion. “What woman?”

“A really pretty one with long brown hair,” says Emma quietly. “Cute dress, very petite. You looked... close.”

“Belle,” he says. “My boss and flatmate.”

“Flatmate?” Emma repeats with an odd note in her voice. Her eyes flicker up to him then back to her glass.

“Er—my roommate,” he amends.

“I know what a flatmate is, Killian.”

“Ah. Yes of course, I just, er—”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

He’s taken aback by the non-sequitur, and the shy smile that accompanies it. The shy smile and the eyes shining with something that makes his already galloping heart pound harder still. “Well, it’s Christmas Day,” he replies weakly.

“That’s also a thing I know.”

“I was just planning to have a meal with Belle, maybe watch some Christmas movies,” he says. “Nothing special.”

“Why don’t you and Belle come to my house instead? For dinner?”

“Oh, well, I—”

“Come on, you have to,” she cajoles. “Henry would never forgive me if he found out I’d seen you and not invited you. He talks about you all the time.”

“He does?”

“He does.”

Killian takes another gulp of rum, emptying the glass. He feels dizzy at this turn of events, almost afraid that they will turn out to be nothing more than another fevered dream. Surreptitiously he pinches his thigh and when he feels the sharp prick of pain he risks a look at Emma. She’s still smiling, that same hopeful, expectant smile he’d been so powerless against one year ago. “Well, I’ll have to check with Belle but I’m sure she’ll agree,” he says. “I’ve—mentioned you and Henry once or twice myself, she’ll be over the moon to meet you both.”

Emma’s smile turns radiant. “Give me your number and I’ll text you the address,” she says. He does, and a moment later his phone dings with a new message. Her address he recognises from his rambles as belonging to a part of town that’s nice but not ostentatious, with comfortable family homes and plenty of parks and very good schools. He thinks about Emma and Henry living there and feels a warm glow of sheer delight. It’s exactly what he hoped for, for them.

“I have to get home,” says Emma. “I told Henry’s babysitter I’d be back by midnight. But—you will come over tomorrow, won’t you? About noon? You promise?”

Killian smiles. “You have my word. I’ll see you then.”

—

Belle agrees to have dinner at Emma’s with as much enthusiasm as he predicted, practically dancing with excitement at the prospect.

“The mythical Emma and Henry!” she sings. “I feel like I’m about to meet a unicorn, or Santa himself.”

Killian’s stomach is dancing too, with anxiety and eagerness and hope. Foolish hope, he tells himself firmly, but it ricochets around his insides nonetheless and refuses to be quashed. He walked away from Emma a year ago so she could have the freedom to make her own choices and she chose to find him, to invite him back into her life. He’s not certain quite what that means but he thinks—he hopes— that at the very least he won't have to go another whole year without seeing her and Henry. That thought alone is enough to make his Christmas bright.

As he stands in the shower with the hot water flowing over him he thinks about how very different his life is than it was just a year ago. The fact that his shower is hot and the water plentiful is the very least of the changes. He no longer has nightmares, no longer feels haunted by his past or fears he might be swallowed up by bleak despair. The dark moods still come from time to time but he is prepared for them now, equipped to weather them without turning to self-destruction. He feels healthier than he has since his navy days, physically as well as mentally. His paunch is gone, replaced with firm muscle, and though he’ll never be as ripped as some of the younger men he works out alongside, he’s toned and strong and that’s enough for him. His complexion now has a ruddy glow, especially when he returns from one of his walks, and he’s begun to take more care with his appearance again, keeping his hair trimmed in a flattering style and investing in a nicer wardrobe.

He gets out of the shower and towels himself dry, then dresses in some of his new garments: charcoal trousers and a black sweater over a shirt with a soft tonal pattern, pale purple and blue against dove grey. He wonders what Emma will think of his new clothes, what she will think of all the changes this past year has wrought in him. He wonders if she’s thought of him the way he’s thought of her.

He wonders what he can bring to dinner this afternoon. There’s a bottle of good wine in the cupboard that he and Belle planned to have with their own Christmas meal and of course many things in the bookshop he’s sure Emma and Henry would love. That should be fine for gifts but still something troubles him, an itchy sort of tingle at the back of his mind, like he’s forgetting something vital. What was it that he brought for them last year? He frowns as he tries to remember. The ship for Henry, that was it, and flowers for Emma from that odd little shop, the one with the florist who reminded him of... of...

Bloody hell.

Killian reels, gripping his bedpost for balance as memories from the year before come flooding back, clear and perfect as though they happened only yesterday. It couldn’t be, he thinks, it’s impossible, and how could he not have noticed at the time? How could he not have seen?

Magic, little brother.

“Killian!” Belle raps sharply on the half-open door of his bedroom, her tone of voice suggesting she’s been calling him for some time. “Are you ready to go? It’s nearly half past eleven.”

“Aye, love.” He breathes in deeply and stands upright. “Be right there.”

They go down to the shop where Killian selects several books for Henry, some of which are slightly above his age group—because a child should have a library that builds towards the future—and, remembering the shelves in her old apartment, a picture frame for Emma made of delicately carved rosewood. He wraps them carefully and rings them up on his employee account as Belle calls them a cab. It’s not far at all to Emma’s house but when Killian suggests they walk Belle informs him crisply that while he might enjoy a snowy stroll across twelve city blocks her shoes would not, and takes out her phone.

The quiet Christmas streets make the ride a short one, but Killian is glad of even a few minutes of peace to sit and to think and spends most of the journey staring out the window at the snowy trees and lawns and attempting to sort through the chaos in his mind.

“Why didn’t you put the wreath on the door this year?” he asks Belle.

“What wreath?” She turns to him with a small frown.

“Last year there was a Christmas wreath on the door of the bookshop,” he replies. “A small one, made of evergreen and holly with pinecones and cinnamon sticks and a big red bow. It’s what caught my attention as I was walking by, why I went inside.”

Belle shakes her head. “There wasn’t any wreath, Killian, though that’s a lovely idea. Maybe we can get one for next year.”

“Aye. I know just the shop to get it from,” he mutters, and then the cab pulls up to Emma’s house.

It’s a charming little house, two storeys of dark red brick with slate blue trim on the windows and on the wide porch where comfortable looking wicker furniture and outdoor toys are all jumbled together. There��s a snowman on the lawn, jaunty and quite pleased with himself in his red and green striped scarf and an actual top hat, surrounded by piled-up and solidly-packed mounds of snow and the gruesome remains of what was evidently a long and hard-fought snowball battle.

The mat lying at the foot of the front door reads Welcome! Everything is fine in soothing green lettering and Killian and Belle exchange a grin as they ring the bell. From within they can hear the sound of voices and then the door swings open and Emma appears, looking festive in skinny jeans and a green sweater with the cartoon face of Rudolph on the front, his nose large and round and glittery red. There’s a plastic holly sprig behind her ear and a bright smile on her face.

“Hey!” she says. “Come in! You must be Belle, I’m Emma. You can hang your coats just here.”

They do so, shrugging the coats off and handing Emma the wine and gifts which she accepts with a laugh that holds a touch of surprise. She leads them down a short hallway and into a cosy living room with a plush sofa along the wall and a tall and brightly decorated tree in the window. A fire blazes beneath a wooden mantelpiece where Christmas stockings labeled Henry and Emma still hang, empty now, and bits of wrapping paper and ribbon still cling to the rug in front of it. Killian has just enough time to observe these things before a miniature whirlwind bursts through the door and barrels into his solar plexus.

“Killian!” Henry cries, squeezing him in a tight hug. “Mom said you were coming but I couldn’t believe it. I missed you. Why didn’t you ever come back?”

Killian’s chest feels as tight as Henry’s arms as he struggles for breath and for the words to explain his conduct. “I’m sorry, Henry, I just—I—I had some things I needed to sort out with myself, before I could be good company to others.”

“But you’re here now, right?” Henry pulls back and looks up at him with brown eyes as wide and trusting as ever. “And you won’t go away again?”

Killian hesitates. He doesn’t want to presume, but then again Emma did come to find him. Surely it wasn’t overstepping to say he would visit Henry from time to time? He senses her watching him and looks up, catching her eye with an imploring look. She nods to him and he swallows hard before returning it.

“Aye, lad,” he says, stroking Henry’s hair with a hand that’s not quite steady. “I won’t go away again.”

“Good,” says Henry solemnly, and then his face lights up. “Guess what? I have my own room now!” he cries. “Do you want to see it?”

“I do indeed.” Killian glances at Belle who waves him away. “Go,” she says. “I’ll stay here and chat with Emma.”

Henry’s room has bunk beds with Thomas the Tank Engine sheets and an overflowing toy chest in one corner. There’s a small bookshelf as well, with the beginnings of a fine library already on it, and taking pride of place in the centre of the very top shelf is the ship Killian gave him last Christmas.

“I play with it in the tub. We have a tub now,” says Henry when he notices Killian looking at the ship. “Mom made sure we did but she says I can’t play in it every day because I splash too much and take too long, but on Saturdays I can play as long as I want.”

Killian takes a moment before replying. “What else do you like to play with?” he asks hoarsely.

Henry shows off his toys and books and though Killian is anything but an expert in parenting he can see that they’ve been carefully chosen for both fun and enrichment, and that while they are plentiful there aren’t too many for one child to use. Emma hasn’t spoiled him, or herself, despite how easily she could have.

When they head back downstairs they find Emma and Belle laughing together on the sofa, each with a cup of hot chocolate in hand and a plate of Christmas cookies on the coffee table in front of them.

“Hey!” says Henry indignantly. “I want hot chocolate!”

Emma gives him a stern look and he flushes. “Please,” he adds.

“There’s some for you in the kitchen,” she says, setting her mug down on the table and getting up. “Would you like some too, Killian?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replies.

They drink their chocolate and munch their cookies and conversation flows easily and merrily among them. Killian is amazed at how well Emma and Belle have hit it off and Henry is ‘on his Christmas behaviour,’ Emma says with a laugh, sitting on the floor playing with his trains and listening, occasionally piping up with a question or comment. Belle and Killian tell them all about the bookshop and Emma promises to bring Henry there as soon as possible.

“For the story time!” cries Henry, eyes wide at the prospect, and then Belle suggests he might like to open the presents they brought him. He squeals with delight at the new books, and Killian gets so caught up in telling him about them that he doesn’t notice Emma quietly unwrap the picture frame until he hears her soft “Oh!”

He turns to see her staring at it with misty eyes and an expression that makes his heart clench. “I know how you love your pictures,” he says softly. “I remember.”

“Henry, what do you say we find a place for those books on your shelves,” says Belle. “Then maybe you can show me your room and the ship Killian gave you last year?”

She ushers Henry from the room, leaving Killian and Emma alone, staring at each other.

“Emma—” he begins, just as she says “Killian—” and they share a nervous laugh.

“Me first, please,” she says, and he nods.

“Of course, love.”

She licks her lips and takes a steadying breath before she speaks. “When you walked away last year,” she begins, “outside the bank, I was so hurt. I know why you did it—I think I know—but it still hurt and for a while I was angry. I thought—I thought we had a connection, and then for you to just leave like that, I—” She shakes her head. “Well, I tried to forget about you and move on, build this new life for myself and Henry, and I did build it but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All year I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, and I missed you. That may sound dumb since we only spent a day together, but that’s how I feel.”

“It doesn’t sound dumb at all,” he says. “I missed you too.”

She gives a small, choking laugh. “I thought you didn’t,” she says. “When I saw you and Belle in the bookstore, I thought, well, he’s forgotten all about you.”

“I definitely did not,” he replies. “I couldn’t. I thought about you too, all year.”

“Really?”

“Oh, aye.” He attempts a smile. “Every day.”

Her eyes are liquid soft and their expression makes his blood hum. “I don’t want to go through that again next year,” she says. “I want to… to see you, and not—not just as a friend.”

“Emma—”

“And don’t say you’re too old! I know that’s what you’re going to say.”

“It is true.”

“It’s not. You can’t be more than what, thirty-four, thirty-five?”

“Thirty-five.”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“That’s—”

“But I don’t care about that, Killian. I like your silver hair and that you’ve had experience of the world. Sometimes I feel like I missed out on so much, getting pregnant so young and since then my whole life has been Henry and trying to get through college. And now I have all this money and I know there’s so much I can do with it, and places I can go, but I don’t really know where to start.”

“Love—”

“Not that I want you to be a tour guide or like an adviser or something, I want—fuck, I’m making a mess of this.”

Killian realises he’s holding his breath, forces himself to exhale and draw in fresh air. “Emma,” he says firmly, “there’s nothing I’d like more than to have a place in your life, and Henry’s, in whatever capacity you wish.”

“Whatever capacity?”

“Aye.”

“So if I said I wanted you to be my—” she takes a deep breath—“my date for a New Year’s Eve party I’m invited to, you’d agree?”

“It would be my honour.”

“And then if I asked you out to dinner?” she continues. “My treat.”

He laughs. “I know a restaurant I think you’d love.”

“And afterwards? If I invited you back here for some coffee?”

“You do make excellent coffee, I don’t think I could refuse.”

“Then if I wanted to go out again, someplace else?”

“You could choose the restaurant, and I would pay.”

“Then maybe a movie sometime?”

“At the old cinema near the bookshop.”

“And what— what if, after a little while, I wanted to have coffee again in the morning? You’d—you’d stay and have that second cup with me?”

“I would love nothing more.”

She nods. “That’s the capacity I wish.”

She’s so close now that he can count the flecks of gold in her eyes and he realises that her hand is on his thigh and his is on her hip, and then she closes the remaining distance between them and kisses him. He moans and pulls her closer, his other hand tangling in her hair as hers curls around his neck and he loses himself in the taste of chocolate and cinnamon on her tongue and the promise of her lips on his. The promise of a future, their future, together.

There’s a clattering noise of footsteps and loud voices on the stairs and they break apart. Killian leans his forehead against Emma’s, revelling in the sight of her dazed and happy smile, and silently thanks Belle for her discretion. Emma stands and pulls him to his feet, and when Henry and Belle appear she beams at them both.

“I think dinner’s nearly ready,” she says. “Henry, let’s go set the table.”

Belle gives Killian a smirk that’s thoroughly ruined by the delight dancing in her eyes. “You look happy,” she says. “And a bit shell-shocked.”

“Aye, to both those things.”

“And you appear to be wearing lipstick,” she teases, handing him a tissue and grinning at his blush. He wipes his mouth and when he offers it back to her she takes his hand as well.

“I’m so glad for you,” she says. “Merry Christmas, Killian. The first of many, I think.”

Killian looks into the dining room where Emma and Henry are laughing as he sets the table and she lays the food out on it. “Aye,” he says gruffly. “I think it will be. I hope.”

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #christmas fic #christmas magic #healing #in mind and body and soul #captains swan #captain book #captain cobra #captain cobra swan #there may be a kiss #to keep it all the year #profdanglaisstuff

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let-it-raines · 6 years ago

Text

Rising from the Ashes (8/?)

Summary: When her husband died, Emma wasn’t sure that she could ever move on. He left her with a broken heart and a baby who was only three-months old. It’s enough to take most people down, to make them not want to keep going, but Emma Swan isn’t most people. She’s stronger than she has any right to be. And after years of heartache, she’s found ways to move on…one of those being in Neal’s best friend, Killian Jones. As she’s always known, however, things are more complicated than they ever seem to be.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Thanks for reading and being genuinely awesome!

Double “-/-” around the flashback!

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @artistic-writer @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @resident-of-storybrooke @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @ekr032-blog-blog @mayquita @bmbbcs4evr @wellhellotragic @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @shady-swan-jones @snowbellewells @snow-into-ash @andiirivera @mariakov81 @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @kristi555 @facesiousbutton82 @superchocovian @jonirobinson64

He wakes when his head hits the floor, narrowly missing the fluffy white rug that he’s been sleeping on for the past two weeks. His back hurts like he’s been repeatedly run over by his SUV, but this is the bed he’s made and he has to lay in it – literally.

This may have been the dumbest decision he’s ever made, and he’s made a lot of them in the nearly four decades of his life. With every part of his body aching, his head pounding a bit from the impact, he gets out of his sleeping bag and stands, taking a few moments to let his body wake up before he needs to get ready to go into the office. He’s only working a half day today so he can make his dentist appointment. It doesn’t take hours, but no one has to know that if he leaves after lunch and just doesn’t come back. It is Friday after all. He does want to go in a bit early to not fall too far behind, so he keeps that in mind as he quietly makes his way down the hall and into his bedroom…Emma’s bedroom…their bedroom…the master bedroom and slips into the bathroom without disturbing Emma or Ada as they sleep with what he hopes is not a care in the world.

Every morning that he does this he’s tempted to crawl into bed with Emma and hold her close to him for just a few minutes, but he knows that he shouldn’t, that he can’t. This was his choice to give himself time to think things through, and he’s not going to fall back on it while he’s still conflicted. He’s not going to let his moments of weakness get to him.

He can’t.

He wants to, but he can’t. He won’t let himself.

He’s never felt quite this alone, but he physically and emotionally cannot give in until he’s figured things out himself. He’s not hoping to figure absolutely everything out. He’s simply trying to set his mind straight and stop having his shoulders weighed down by guilt. Of course, the guilt he’s trying to make up for is only placing another kind of guilt on his shoulders, but this will all get better. He has no idea how or when, but he knows that it has to. It might not be in the way that deep down he knows that he wants, but it will get better.

Life would always be dreary if he didn’t have that hope for a better future.

After he’s showered, he quickly runs through his morning routine and gets dressed for work. He likes to be out of the bathroom before Emma wakes up to keep her from hurting anymore. He knows that what he’s doing makes her feel shitty. He can see it in her eyes whenever she looks at him, and honestly, he’s not sure if she’s ever going to forgive him. He’s not even sure if he deserves forgiveness for going about telling her he needed some time in the way that he did. He just knew that if he didn’t have a nice, clean break, he’d never get one at all.

He’d never get time to sort through his muddled feelings like he’s been trying to do.

He needs to talk to someone. He needs to talk to Emma, but how does he tell her that he loves her? That he loves her more than anything in this world but that he doesn’t feel he deserves to be with her?

How does he tell her the things he’s struggling to tell himself?

As quietly as he can, he exits the bathroom, letting the door stay open as he pads out of the room. Before he leaves, though, he takes a quick glance over to Emma and Ada. Emma’s still asleep, and he knows she’s not faking it from the noises she’s making, but his Ada girl is awake and gurgling away in her bassinet. Slowly but surely, he walks over to her and picks her up before leaving the bedroom, the door softly clicking closed behind him.

“Somebody needs to get ready for the day,” he murmurs into Ada’s ear, holding her against his shoulder while he walks her back to the nursery. “We need to get you all ready for the day so when Mummy wakes up, she won’t have to do anything but feed you. Plus, I can spend some time with you, my girl. I might even get your brother up early so we can all have some time together, yeah? Does that sound like a good idea to you?”

He takes her noises as affirmation as he gets her ready for the day, watching her eyes follow him with every movement that he makes. She’s so attentive that it’s scary sometimes, and he swears it’s like having one of those portraits where it looks like the eyes follow you.

This little girl is such a light in his life, and all he really wants to do is spend his day holding her close to his chest so she can feel his heartbeat in the same way that he can feel hers.

After he’s changed her diaper and her clothes, he takes her with him downstairs, talking to her in the way that he always does. He knows that he could go ahead and feed her before he starts breakfast for Henry, but Emma usually prefers to breastfeed in the mornings and to try to help out with solid foods. Ada is a big fan of avocados weirdly enough, but he doesn’t really blame her. Who wouldn’t like guacamole? So he simply straps her into her bouncer on the island so he can make some scrambled eggs and cut up fruit for Henry. Usually they just let him eat cereal, none of them having time to cook in the mornings, but he’s been getting so little time with his kids lately that he figures it can’t hurt to make a little something to eat while he sits with Henry before school.

For all of the issues that Neal has caused in his life lately, the one he can’t begrudge him for in the slightest is spending time with Henry. Henry’s eyes just light up when he’s talking to Neal or when Neal offers to do something with him, and what more can Killian ask than for his kids to be happy? Nothing. It’s just…nothing.

He can hear Henry’s shower come to life as he moves the eggs around on the pan, and he knows it won’t be long until Henry is bounding down the stairs with his hair stuck to his head and his socks mismatched. Emma usually has to work some kind of magic to make his hair not stick straight on his head, and on the mornings where she sleeps in and it’s just him helping – it never works out well. He can do his own hair, but Henry’s is a whole other story. God knows that one day he’s going to have to learn how to braid hair for Ada, and that’ll likely be a disaster even if he usually can help Emma when her arms get tired from doing her own hair. Luckily Ada only has these honey wisps for now.

Sure enough, not ten minutes later Henry is sprinting downstairs and dressed in jeans and a sweater with his hair lying flat on his head, water droplets falling onto the navy of his sweater as he skids into the kitchen.

“Morning. Want some food?”

“Obviously.”

He chuckles underneath his breath as he fixes Henry a plate, ignoring the way that Henry turns his nose up at it being healthy instead of something sugary. That’s another Emma thing. She lets him have sugar far more often, but she also eats sugar far more often. He’s pretty sure that Henry misses Emma being pregnant because they ate like kings nearly every morning.

“Is Mum up? Did she wake you up?” he asks as he slides a plate to Henry on the bar, picking at his own eggs while his free hand moves against Ada to keep her entertained.

“Yep. You didn’t know?”

“Uh, no,” he answers honestly, scratching behind his ear. “I woke up early and brought your sister downstairs so your mum could get some more sleep. Do you think she’ll want some breakfast?”

“Probably, but she said she was going to take a shower. Can Ada eat eggs?”

“Not yet. Think that they might be too chewy for her.”

“I had a dream last night that she was a giant baby who ate all of the food in the house, so I was just wondering.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. It was crazy. She could walk around and all of her steps made, like, these loud noises, and she stuffed all of the food in her mouth before she crushed the house and moved to go to Mr. Wong’s house.”

“You hear that Ada bug,” he coos, tickling her stomach and listening to her giggle, “Henry says that you were a monster in his dream last night eating all of the food. That’s probably why he’s stuffing all of his eggs in his mouth right now.”

“I am not,” he mumbles, his cheeks full of food.

“Chew, my boy,” he laughs, taking a bite of his own egg. “Hey, so I have the afternoon off of work, and I was thinking we could drive out to that Christmas tree farm and get us a tree today when you’re finished with school.”

“Really?”

“Of course. We’ve got to decorate the house for Christmas.”

“Yeah, we only have twenty days. That’s not a long time before Santa’s here.”

“I know. So you think we should go? I’m thinking we get a giant one and put it next to the fireplace?”

Henry hums, placing his hand on his chin and looking into the living room like he’s contemplating it. “Yeah, I think we could do that. I’m going to put the swan on top, though.”

“Well, that is your job, buddy.”

“I know. I’ve got to do it. Can my dad come with us to get the tree?”

“We’ll have to ask him if he can after he gets off work, but I don’t see why not.”

“Cool.”

-/-

“Hello?”

“Hey, Swan,” he greets, walking off of base and making his way to the trains so that he can go home as he talks on the phone with her.

“Oh hi!” she says a little more enthusiastically before he hears a loud crash in the background. “Henry baby, no no no,” she sighs, muttering things he can’t understand on the other end of the line.

“Emma, are you okay? Is Henry okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. He just knocked a picture frame down. The glass didn’t break, which is good, but I’m going to have to move things around so he doesn’t hurt himself now that he pretty much sprints whenever he gets up.”

“Aye,” he chuckles, dodging someone on the street, “that he is. So I was calling to ask if you and the lad want to come over on Christmas? Or I can come to your place? I couldn’t get leave to go to London, and Liam apparently had some kind of shipping disaster at work. The ponce can’t take off to come here, and since you’re not going to Maine, I figured we could at least give Henry a happy Christmas.”

“Can you come here? I’ve got this tiny little artificial tree that I put up, and Henry really likes the baubles on it. Plus all of his presents are here. It’s not much, but I just…I’m lazy, and I don’t want to move it all.”

“Love, it’s literally no problem for me to come to your apartment, and don’t worry about food or anything. I’ll take care of that.” “Killian – ”

“No, nope. I’m taking care of it all. I know that your budget is tight, and I don’t want you stressing. I’m Santa Claus for you and Henry this year.” He hears a sniffle on the other end of the line, and it stops him in his tracks as he steps off of the sidewalk and settles down against a store’s windowsill. “Hey, did something else happen?”

“No,” she cries, the sniffles more obvious, “we’re fine, I promise. It’s just been a really tough few days. I feel so alone sometimes. No one…for a little while, I thought I’d have some of Neal’s friends and their wives around to help me, but no one but you has really stuck around. And it’s hard feeling like I have no one here in the city to turn to. I mean, my family isn’t here and I – I’m telling you far too much.”

“You had dinner yet, love?”

“What?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

“No. I was just going to eat some cereal.”

“Rubbish. I’ll get some takeout and come over tonight, okay?”

“Killian – ”

“No, no. This is what’s happening. I’ll be there in a little under an hour, okay? Tell Henry not to knock over any more frames without me.”

“I’ll pass on the message.”

“Good.”

The minute he hangs up the phone, he turns around and tries to take a few deep breaths. He and Emma have always gotten on well, but over the past year, he thinks that they’ve become friends all on their own. Yeah, Neal’s death has definitely bonded them, but with Emma not really liking to talk about it most days, they’ve had to find other things to talk about and do. Henry was their bonding factor for awhile, but there’s only so many things they can talk about when it comes to his development and the new words that he’s learning.

Emma does text him whenever he says something new, and it’s always fascinating watching the video of her trying to coax it out of him again.

When he looks up, he sees several hand-painted toy boats in the display window behind him. They remind him of the hand-me-downs he had as a child, and even though he needs to be getting dinner so he can be with Emma while she’s having a bad night, he wanders into the store, leaving twenty minutes later with several wrapped boxes of toys for Henry and a carved Swan tree topper for Emma. He’d laughed out loud when he saw it, figured there’d never been a more ridiculous tree topper, but it was so fitting for Emma that he couldn’t not get it for her.

So he’s at Emma’s a little more than an hour later with one hand full of a bag of Mexican food and the other full of his gifts, and the moment Emma answers the door, he can see the exhaustion on her face, defined lines around the red rim of her eyes that no woman in her early twenties should have. He places everything on the ground, closing the door behind him with his foot, and wraps her in a hug, feeling her shoulders shake underneath his touch.

“Shhh,” he whispers, rubbing his hand up and down her back while his heart breaks for her, a coil in his stomach tightening, “it’s okay. You’re okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

He can feel her head move under his chin, her nod resonating with him, but he doesn’t let go until she pulls back, wiping the tears from her eyes. It absolutely kills him to see her cry like this. For the first few years he knew her, he doesn’t think he saw her show any kind of emotion. Then Neal was declared missing or dead or whatever the hell the Marines had told Emma last year, and he swears that he’d never seen anyone cry that many tears. It went on for months until one day it just…stopped. Nearly every time he’d see her, which wasn’t as often as he’d like in the first few months, she’d either sob or have just finished sobbing. He hates to be a man who says a woman can only cry because she’s hormonal, and while he doesn’t believe that, Emma had just had a baby. Feelings were going to be amplified, and he imagines losing your spouse while gaining a child is completely and totally overwhelming.

He’s lost a lot of friends, Neal included, but outside of his mum’s death and his father leaving, he’s never lost someone he loved like Emma loved Neal. The closest thing that can compare is him losing Milah. They’d been together for so long, almost half a decade, but somewhere along the way things had drifted apart. They’d drifted apart, and in a moment of weakness, she’d been with another man. He knows it was likely due to his deployments and his busy schedule, but he lost her because he wasn’t around. She betrayed him, but he can’t help but feeling that it was a bit his fault. It’s not at all comparable to having her die, but oftentimes there’s just this…ache in his heart where he misses her. He knows that she’s happy now, that she’s married someone else, and honestly, that’s all he’s ever wanted for her. She should be happy with someone who’s going to be there for her.

It’s a complicated situation to be with someone who has betrayed you. Of course he felt anger and hurt, but he loved her. That didn’t change. He loved her enough that he was willing to work through things. It simply didn’t work out. It wasn’t meant to be for them.

Emma must get that ache sometimes. The ache of simply missing someone, and he’s never quite wished he knew how to soothe it more than he does right now. He doesn’t want Emma to feel that ache, but he imagines it will always be there. He’s never met anyone quite as strong-willed as she is, but even the strongest wills (and walls) eventually fall.

“What’s in the bags?” she mumbles against his shirt.

“Food.”

“The other bag.”

“That’s a secret for Christmas morning, love.” “Seriously?”

He leans back so he can see her eyes, the green bright against the water that’s still shining there. “Seriously,” he smiles down at her, reaching up to wipe away the tears from her cheeks. “Now come on. Let’s eat.”

They don’t talk about anything serious that night. They simply eat their food after he helps put Henry to bed, and he lets Emma guide the conversation. She keeps things light, only talking about the most superficial of things, but if she doesn’t want to talk about their phone conversation or why she’s been crying so much today, he won’t force it out of her. If she feels like talking, she will on her own time. So they watch television and have a good night doing nothing, and when she does want to talk about everything Christmas Eve night, all about how she feels like she’s failing Henry every time she can’t do something on her own, he lets her. He lets her talk about how she knows that life is never fair but how she does feel like she keeps getting the short end of the stick over and over again even when she thinks she’s finally got something good going for her. She misses David and Ruth, and she quietly admits to him that some days she doesn’t even miss Neal for him but rather that she misses him so she’d have someone to help her out. Of course, that admission only makes her crawl back into her shell, backtracking on the words and going on and on about what a horrible human being she is.

“I miss Neal. Of course I miss Neal. Of course, of course, of course. Ah, fuck. I don’t – I don’t…I’m such a screw up.”

“No, no, you’re not.” He reaches over to her on the couch and grabs her arm, squeezing tightly for just a moment. “Your life has been difficult, Emma, and nothing you said is wrong. I know that you miss him without you having to say that. Just because you’re overwhelmed and want help, want the life that you thought you were going to have…that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person for thinking that.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

“I promise it’s true. Not every thought you have is going to be rainbows and butterflies. Though for tonight we could make it candy canes and reindeer for festivity reasons.”

“How could this night possibly be festive?”

He moves his brows across his forehead in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I’ll let you open a present early.”

“Oh my God,” she laughs, throwing her head back against the couch. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. You can open the one in the green packaging.”

“I’m going to do it,” she says, getting up from the couch and walking over to the small tree that she has, picking it up and bringing and back over to the couch before she unceremoniously rips open the paper to reveal the cardboard box, opening it up even further while he feels his face heat, body suddenly full of nerves. “Is this a – ”

“Swan tree topper, yeah. For the Swan family.”

She looks up at him, her eyes bright but with no tears filling them. Good. Her lips even tick up on the corners, and he hopes that means she’s feeling lighter. “You know Henry’s last name is Cassidy, right? I’m the only Swan.”

“Aye, I know,” he whispers, his voice somehow loud in the quietness of the room as he reaches over to tuck Emma’s hair behind her ear. He knows that she hates when it falls in her face. “You never changed your name, but just because a last name is different doesn’t mean anything. I’m sure Henry will like the Swan too. When he gets older, of course.”

Her lashes flutter against her cheeks, and his heart beats so wildly in his chest that Emma must be able to hear it. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“It’s not problem, love. Why don’t you put it up on top of the tree?”

“Can we…” She looks at him with her lips parted before she looks down the hall. “Can we do it with Henry in the morning? I know he won’t remember, but I’d like to start a tradition with him since I didn’t last year.”

“I think that sounds grand.”

In the morning there’s more wrapping paper on the floor than there is carpeting despite the small number of presents underneath the tree, but it’s a joyful thing that. Henry is fascinated with everything he’s unwrapped, but mostly he likes messing with the bows, sticking them on his cheek or on Emma’s knees over the flannel of her snowmen pajamas. And before the day is up, they remember to put the swan on top of the tree, all of the multi-colored lights reflecting off of the white beacon on top.

-/-

The moment he gets home after his dentist appointment he sheds the jacket from his arms and hat from his head, shaking out his hair as he kicks his shoes off. He knows that no one else in his family ever takes their shoes off when coming in from outside, always tracking snow and dirt in, but he can always hope that someone will follow his lead. With Neal working again, the house is quieter than he’s used to, all of his movements echoing. Without them living near a base, there weren’t a lot of options for Neal here, but he’s set himself up as an information’s analyst downtown two blocks over from Killian’s office. He’s going to be flying out to D.C. every now and then to meet with some of his bosses and talk about his future. Once a week is what he’d said, but Killian isn’t too sure about that. It’ll probably be every few weeks, and he’s not sure how much it’ll have to do with Neal’s career in the Marines, especially since he’ll likely never be deployed again. It’ll likely be because Neal’s face is plastered across news stations for being a hero, and politicians like to publicize on that.

While Neal was pretty much an omnipresent member of their household for the first month, things are calming down now that they’re settling into a routine.

As glad as he is that Neal has something to do that he finds fulfilling, he’s honestly glad that he’s not always around simply so he can have time to think. Seeing Emma and Neal around every corner…it made it nearly impossible for him to understand the way he felt his stomach roll every time he looked at them talking about anything at all. He hates himself for feeling that way. He still thinks asking Emma for a break was the right decision even if he knows that he hurt her. He hurt himself too, and every time he watches her snatch her hand away from where it was about to touch his thigh or when he watches the tears randomly form in her eyes, he feels as if his stomach might as well be lined with anchors. But it’s right. It has to be right. They needed to take a step back from each other and assess everything that’s happened with calm around them. When their emotions run high…who knows what will happen?

He doesn’t.

Is this right? Has he fucked up? Those seem to be the only words in his mind when he’s so desperately clinging onto finding something more.

He might not ever.

Despite the silence he can hear the TV on in the living room, and his legs guide him there to find Emma curled into a ball, a blanket wrapped around her, and her eyes glued to the screen as she watches Friends. She doesn’t even pay him any attention, which is the norm after Thanksgiving when no one else is around, so he sits in an armchair across from her, propping his feet up on the ottoman.

“Is Ada asleep?”

“Yep.”

“How has your day been?”

“Good.”

“Are you going to talk to me using more than one word?”

“Nope.”

“Emma.”

“Killian.”

“For fuck’s sake, you just can’t ignore me.”

Her eyes cut to him then, and he’s never felt a chill cross his body like the one that just did. His arms are covered in gooseflesh, and all he wants is to put back on his jacket and head back out in the cold in search of warmth.

“Are you really going to tell me that I can’t just ignore you when the entire reason I am ignoring you is your own damn fault?”

“You know that’s not true.”

“It is. You’re the one who said you wanted this idiotic break. You’re the one who walks around this house like everything is coming up daisies, like everything is fucking perfect. And maybe to you it is. Maybe this is just some weak excuse to try to phase me out. You’ve found an opportunity to leave, and you’re going to take it.”

“Hey,” he scoffs, much louder than he intended when he knows there’s a sleeping baby upstairs, “none of that is true. And we are on the same team, remember?”

“I believe that you dismembered the team, Captain.”

She spits out his old title with such venom that another chill runs down his spine, and he knows that he should shut up, that he should not push this further when Emma’s day has obviously been anything but good, but he’s not about to let Emma think that he’s going to abandon her. He would never despite what’s going on right now by his own doing.

“We are still friends and partner and parents.”

“Oh I’m sorry. I thought that we were on a break from absolutely everything. Excuse me for not realizing that we can pick and choose the ways we’re broken up. What’s next? If you want a casual fuck, that’s allowed too?”

“That is not what I’m saying, and you know it. And how many times do I have to say that we are not broken up?”

“Haven’t you ever watched this damn show?” she hisses, motioning out to the television where Rachel and Ross are on screen, irony seemingly everywhere. “A break is never really just a break, Killian.”

“I don’t take my life advice from comedies, so I view it as something a little different.”

“Of course you do. Of fucking course you do. But you know what? I don’t. Or at least I can’t right now. I have had some of the hardest two months of my life, and you’ve just left me to deal with it all on my own.”

“I am right here, Emma.”

“You’re not though. You’re not. You’re off figuring your own shit out, thinking about how you can’t break Neal’s family up, thinking about how you want to give him a chance at having his family back. Well guess what? All you’ve done is break our family up. I can’t believe how many times I’ve had to say that. You care so goddamn much about your own guilt that I bet you haven’t even stopped to consider how the only people who are really getting fucked up here are our kids and me. You might think you’re being selfless, but you’re being so goddamn selfish that I can’t even look at you sometimes.”

“Love – ”

“What did I say about you calling me that?”

“Swan, I need you to listen to me.”

“I’m good, thanks.” She throws the blanket off of her before she gets off the couch and starts walking out of the room. “You can go pick up Henry from school. Neal cancelled on him. He can’t make it to the damn Christmas tree farm either.”

-/-

“Hey, buddy,” he greets when Henry climbs into the back seat, throwing his backpack down and buckling himself in before he crosses his arms over his chest. “You have a good day?”

“Yep.”

He twists in his seat at Henry’s voice, and that’s when he sees the splotches on his skin and the set of his jaw. “Henry, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Henry shrieks before turning his head and looking out the window while the car behind him blares its horn for him to move out of the carpool line. “You have to go.”

“I need you to tell me what’s wrong first.”

“You’re going to block the line.”

“Fine,” he huffs, concern filling him as he puts the car in drive and moves out of the pick-up line. Something is obviously wrong with Henry, and they need to talk about it. He’s honestly just not sure how to go about it.

God, if he gets home and Ada is having a fit, he’s going to need to run for miles to work off his frustration. He might as well start running now.

About halfway home he decides that maybe Henry needs a change of pace, so instead of continuing onto the house, he pulls into a café, parking around the corner.

“What are we doing?”

“We’re going to get something to eat. Mum wanted some soup.”

“I don’t want to get Mom soup.”

“You can get a sandwich and some chips. Come on, it’ll be like a snack before we go get the tree.”

Henry nods his head before he gets out of the car, and Killian has to hurry to do the same before Henry’s running off without him. Something must be really messing with his head because he’s never this quiet right after school. He always has something to talk about, but he barely answers Killian’s questions about what he wants to eat when he’s ordering food for everyone. He doesn’t know if Emma will actually eat any of this, not since he’s the one bringing it home, but it’s the story he told Henry. And maybe it’ll help mend the bridges a bit. They need to talk. He was thinking this time apart, this him stepping back, would help, but if Emma’s anger is going to fester…he knows that it’s not helping.

They need to get away with just the two of them and actually talk through things. He wants to be with her more than anything, but he’s struggling. He doesn’t know what to do.

He’s fucked up, but he really did think it was the best decision he could make. Emma could have…she and Henry could have their second chance at the life they’ve always deserved.

But they’re not going to accomplish anything by avoiding and hating each other.

They should have talked at the start of this. They shouldn’t have avoided everything.

He shouldn’t have avoided everything.

Instead of going back to the car with their food, he settles down at an empty table in the corner of the restaurant, putting Henry’s drink on the table and watching him as he messes with the buttons on his shirt, his eyes never making contact with Killian.

“Hey, hey, hey, buddy,” he begins, tapping on the table until his son looks up at him. He can be dramatic, but he’s never like this. “Henry, you have to talk to me.”

“I don’t want to.” “Are you upset?”

“Yes.” “And what do we do when we’re upset?”

Henry mumbles something under his breath, huffing to himself while the red in his face begins to calm from where it had flared up again.

“Say it again, son.”

“We talk to Momma or you.”

“Aye, we talk to Mummy or Daddy,” he repeats, reaching his hand over the table so he can squeeze Henry’s shoulder. “So why don’t you talk to me about why you’re upset? Or we can talk to Mum when we get home.”

“I don’t want to talk to Momma.”

Killian raises his eyebrow, confusion building within him. Henry always wants to talk to Emma. There are times when Henry doesn’t want to talk to him, but without fail, Henry always wants to talk to Emma.

“Why not?” “Because.” “Because what?”

“Because Jonathon and Brandon were mean to me today about her. They called Mom names.” He raises a brow, things beginning to make sense even though some of his greatest fears since the interview are coming to fruition. The very last thing that he wanted was Henry to be affected negatively. It’s why they didn’t want him doing it. They’d agreed to let Neal talk about him, but no more than that.

“Henry, what did they call her?” “I don’t…I don’t know what it means, but I know it wasn’t nice because Kensie said they were saying a bad word. They were telling me that their moms and dads, that they were talking about how Momma is a whore. What’s a whore?”

White rage builds within him, his shoulders tensing and jaw clenching to the point of pain, but he can’t be angry right now. He can’t. He’s got to deal with Henry, and he can’t do that if he’s ready to go punch the shit out of Jonathon and Brandon’s parents.

He’s going to get arrested for assault, and he doesn’t even care. No one has any right to talk about Emma that way. Taking a deep breath, he tries to figure out how the hell to explain to an eight-year-old who sees such good in the world that his mother is not a whore. What even is his life?

“A whore is not a nice word, buddy. We don’t ever use it, okay? And I promise you that your mum is not one. What they were saying, it’s not true. I know it’s hard, but you just have to ignore what everyone says about us. It’s not true. Our family is our family. Your mum and I love you and Ada more than anything in the world. That’s what I want you to remember.”

Henry finally looks up at him then, determination in his eyes, and even though he looks so much like Neal, right now all he can see is Emma. “But why are they saying that?”

“Sometimes people say mean things, and it’s usually because they’re having a hard time. That doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

“Did you say a mean thing to Mom?”

“What? No. What are you talking about?”

Henry shrugs before he takes a sip of his juice. “She was crying this morning when she woke me up. I didn’t know why. I thought maybe you just said a mean thing to her since Jonathon and Brandon made me cry.”

“No, Henry, I – ” He…he doesn’t even know what to say. Exhaustion is running through him, making his eyes feel heavy along with every other inch of his body. This is all so screwed up, and he has to fix it. If Emma is crying in the mornings before they’ve even spoken and if Henry is noticing things and having trouble at school…he has to fix this. They have to fix this. He can’t do this anymore. “Sometimes your Mum and I do say mean things to each other, but we always say we’re sorry. We love each other like we love you, and that’s not going to change.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah, son. I promise.”

#rising from the ashes #captain swan fic #captain swan #cs ff #cs fic

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treatian · 5 years ago

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 28: Abrupt Decisions

He was finally comfortable enough to bring himself to a conclusion: the Golden Fleece was unremarkable.

It had magic in it, that much he could feel, but after several experiments, the magic had yet to truly reveal itself. The secrets of the fleece it seemed were destined to remain a secret, for he was certainly not about to give it up and let another witch or wizard discover it in his stead. It had been worth a try, but the consolation prize was that it made a lovely decoration with the rest of his collection in the Great Hall! That, and of course, what had transpired between he and Cora the night they'd retrieved it. For that reason alone, he wasn't upset about abandoning work on it.

The truth was that the closer he got to Cora, the more he knew and understood that the prophecy he'd heard was going to come to pass. It would be her daughter, Regina Mills, who cast the curse that would take him to his son. He didn't need to search for beans or fleeces or even hammers that could transport to other realms! He only needed Cora. Only needed the baby that she would one day have. Perhaps one day very soon. Months had passed since they'd first met and begun their little affair. In that time, not only had she progressed with her magic, regularly and expertly altering memories, stealing hearts, making potions, solving problems, moving and pushing energy to her will…but she'd also progressed with Prince Henry as well.

Their wedding day loomed, and therefore so did their wedding night. And if he was honest with himself, of course he felt jealousy over such a thing. But she'd seemed to sense it, seemed to know that he was beginning to rage at the very idea of it. Why had he turned her down all those nights ago? It was a stupid thing to do, if he didn't perhaps he wouldn't feel this growing urge to step in front of her every time he saw the pair of them together, to trip that prince, to send him flying across the room, to snap his brittle neck!

It would be nothing, she'd assured him, time and time again with not the least bit of embarrassment or trepidation for that night. He could remember being so nervous he could barely stand when he'd first gone to bed with Milah, so nervous when he'd first propositioned Cora, but she seemed oddly cool and calm about the entire thing. Perhaps that was a sign that it was as she said.

"It's nothing," she repeated when he expressed his concern. "It's just a series of physical motions; it'll mean nothing, Rumple! It's not like when we're together, my darling."

Indeed. Admittedly, they had not been together in that way. They hadn't had sex, not yet. They hadn't gone any farther than what had happened that day at his castle and a proposition from one to the other that had never been fulfilled. Some of that was due in part to her upcoming nuptials. But the more time he spent with her, the more he realized it was only a matter of time until the moment truly was right, and they weren't able to resist one another anymore, and he no longer cared that she would be marrying the Prince. There were times, even now, that he looked at her and he burned with a need to be closer than he was. Times like now.

He'd popped in, secretly, at first, just to check that she was alone, then openly watched her as she stared at herself in the mirror. She was dressed in a wedding dress. Her wedding dress. The dress she would wear tomorrow to make promises she would never keep to Henry.

"I'm giving him my hand, love, not my heart," she'd insisted just the other night with frustration. She'd begged him to stay the night with her. She'd gotten on her knees before him again, to tempt him further, he assumed. But instead of the voices quieting, it was his own voice that swam with questions and emotions that forced him to urge her to her feet. He hadn't been able to prepare himself for what she wanted, even with magic. His mind was too busy.

In part, that was why he'd come so early today, to fix things and apologize for what had happened yesterday when he'd left abruptly. But now that he saw her there in that dress, there was something that scratched just beneath his skin. Something he did not like. On the one hand it was something that gave him a secret gleeful thrill to know that marriage might make her a princess but it would never make Cora Henry's Great Love. And yet…jealousy could still reign supreme if he let it. So the answer was simple. He wouldn't let it.

"Enjoying the view as much as I am?" he teased, letting her jump at his voice before swooping her in and pressing her close for a frantic kiss. Until she pushed him away.

"How dare you?!" she stated with feigned shock and anger. "I'm a married woman."

"Not yet. Wedding's tomorrow!" he corrected before kissing her again.

"Hm. Well, then it's all right," she conceded before giving in and kissing him again.

"Love the dress!" he commented before pulling away. He had too. She had a full day ahead of her, and he was certain that she'd have chambermaids and servants coming to check on her and move her to the next event any moment now. But if they kept this up, they'd find their future Princess in a very, very precarious position as he fought to claim what he knew Henry would tomorrow night.

"Royal brides have to be snow white."

He let out an involuntary giggle at that comment.

"When you see the future, there is irony everywhere," he pronounced before taking a seat opposite that mirror.

"You know, I thought I wanted this," she muttered after a pause. "White and bright, all the admiration…but then I look at it…fifth in line to be Queen. That won't happen without an awful lot of bloodshed. And what you give me…"

He sat forward and reached for her hands to get her to stop. There was a feeling, something indescribable, in the pit of his stomach. He knew what the Prophecy stated, he knew what he needed to find Bae, but he also had the feeling that he knew what she was leading up to, and he wanted that too. He understood what the future offered. She did not.

"I can give you nothing but darkness…and isolation," he clarified.

"And love?" Cora questioned.

His tongue wouldn't work. He wasn't sure what to say. He was almost certain she was going to say what he thought she was, but could he allow her to? Oh, his heart was pounding as he stared up at her, his mouth was dry, and somehow he just couldn't bring himself to lie.

"Yeah," he heard himself confirm, "And love."

Cora leaned in closer. "I want that."

And so did he. Oh, how was this possible? He'd never hoped to feel anything like what he felt now for Cora, not since the woman from his village had turned him down years ago! But he felt something for Cora that was so much stronger than anything he'd ever felt for her. Was it love? Was this what the love of a man and a woman felt like? He was old, but he'd never really known it before to tell. He was over a hundred years old but shamefully naïve about the subject. Yet he knew, in his heart of hearts, that he didn't want her to go with Henry tomorrow night. He wanted her to come with him…he wanted her to come with him right now! He wanted to take her home to his bed to correct his previous behavior. And he wanted to discover that she was the one! She was the Cora he'd seen his vision! But could she also be that brown-haired woman he'd seen in the bed beside him in that same vision. Those shoulders were pinker, but…the tone of flesh could change over time. And if this was real, maybe this was what it was about, maybe changing and living a life with someone was about change! Perhaps visions could change, perhaps the future could change! What did it matter if Cora's firstborn child was Prince Henry's or…his own?

He could think of one reason that might matter, but it had nothing to do with Cora or the child, and everything to do with a stupid choice he'd made when he was weak and scared. But that particular deal had one very obvious, very easy loophole to exploit if time hadn't taken care of it for him to begin with. And as for Cora…

"What if I, uh…" he rose from his seat and paced around her. He caught a flash of himself and Cora in her white dress in the mirror and had to look away just to focus. "What if I, uh…amended, our contract? Instead of you owing me some random firstborn child," he pronounced while moving his arms wildly and dramatically as he'd never had to do with Cora before, "…you owe me my child?"

It was a show of just how nervous he was, just how much he wanted her to say yes to what he was offering.

"I can make that deal."

"As can I." His heart skipped a beat and felt lighter as they moved toward one another. Love. Was this the legendary pull of it?

"Rumple…can we really do this?" she asked. "Can we really have this?"

He understood her confusion. He understood it so much better than she may ever know because he felt that same sense of unfairness in the world that she must. Two creatures like them, united in their love of bloodlust, so skilled in Dark Magic, her running around behind her fiancé's back, he committing so many murders he couldn't even remember them all. How could they have this happiness? How could they have it so close and ripe for the taking?

"If you truly wish it."

He wanted so bad, more than anything to see her lean forward and insist that it was what she wanted, more than anything! But instead he saw a flicker of uncertainty pass over her eyes. Not disinterest, just…a complication.

"There is one-"

"What?" he demanded desperately. If he could fix what had happened in his past, before she married, before she even found out about it, then they could solve whatever was edging out her decision. He was certain about whatever her uncertainty was. He just needed to know it.

"It's the King," she confessed as that darkness clouded her eyes again. "He humiliated me. He made me feel the way you've shown me I never have to feel. I want to kill him," she stated just as though she'd stated she wanted a goldfish from the fair. "I want to show him his heart before I do it, so he can see it and know what I'm doing as I crush it."

"And that is why I love you." Oh, this was why they worked so well. Her bloodlust, her desire for revenge and justice, was nearly as unquenchable as his own! And that was why he had every confidence that they could make this work. Truly. The future wasn't set in stone. It could change!

Cora moved closer, took her hand and laid it just over his heart where he wondered if she could feel it straining against his skin to touch her own, to have her skin pressed against his, to have her, without that dress, in his bed instead of the Prince's. He wondered what that bloodlust would look like when she was in her arms then. Would she carry it to bed with her and be just as fierce? Gods, he hoped so!

"Show me!" she demanded. Show her how he loved her? Easily. But not here. Not now, not when there was so much to be done before they could pull this off. But when they succeeded, and they were finally at his castle, together, when his daughter finally helped him get back to his son, it was going to be an impressive feat beyond anything any seer could have seen. And when they were alone together tonight…it was going to make anything Milah had with that pirate of hers look like child's play. He only prayed that with even his own inexperience, he might be a worthy teacher.

"I will show you everything," he promised.

"Then I'll do it tonight."

Tonight.

Tonight!

So much to do and yet…it was the perfect amount of time!

"Let's seal that promise," he insisted before capturing her mouth once more.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Cora #Queen of Hearts #Golden Heart #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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vinylackles · 6 years ago

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platonic

word count: 3,500

summary: dean doesn’t think he’s ready for a relationship, but that doesn’t mean he likes you flirting with anyone else. and you know exactly how to hit him where it hurts... good things there’s two winchesters

jealous dean. so. much. jealous. dean. this is fairly angsty, and set in one of the earlier seasons :) enjoy!

all my works || request imagines here

There were three sets of eyes on you, each one of them burning a different feeling into your skin.

Sam’s eyes were on your back, and you knew exactly what he was watching for. Any sign of danger and he’d have his gun drawn in a moment, ready to take whatever it was down. He could probably make it across the tiny bar in three strides, and it put your mind at ease.

The second pair of eyes were, undoubtedly, on your boobs. The guy you were talking to had definitely given you his name, but you hadn’t bothered to commit it to memory. He hadn’t given up the information you were jonesing for yet, which meant you were going to put up with his googly eyes for a few more minutes, and pretend like you hadn’t seen him scratch his number down on the napkin.

The third set were the ones you were most focused on. Dean was watching you like a hawk... and you were using every bit of his attention to your advantage.

You’d been purposely pushing his buttons since your slightly tipsy conversation with him last week. The two of you had been skirting around each other ever since you had started hunting consistently with the boys. You’d shared a few drunken kisses, held hands in the front seat of the impala on road trips. Nothing serious.

But you were ready to make it just that. And when you’d brought up taking it the next level, making it ‘official’, Dean had locked up immediately.

“We don’t need to put a label on it sweetheart. Just two friends havin’ fun, you know, in a platonic way,” he’d said, sipping at his beer.

And you weren’t sure why, but those words had made you angrier at Dean than you thought possible. Perhaps it was because in every sense of the word besides actually calling you his girlfriend, he expected you to act like one. No flirting with other guys, always sharing a bed with him in the double motels rooms. He’d call you honey after his third beer without fail. And you were so invested in him it wasn’t even funny; if you didn’t know better, you’d say you loved the man. His words had hurt you more than they’d angered you, if you were honest.

But if he wanted it to be platonic, you’d show him platonic all right.

You’d missed the last three sentences the man in front of you had said, and you could tell he was getting a bit nervous, rambling on trying to remedy it. You seized the opportunity, reaching out and tracing a finger along his jawline; it wasn’t nearly as sharp as Dean’s. You could picture him behind you at the table, fist and jaw clenched equally tight, and you grinned at the thought.

“So you didn’t see anything weird on Sunday night? In the alley between West Jefferson and Main?”

“N-No ma’am.”

“What a shame, I was really hoping someone had seen my friend, she left the bar around 11:30,” you probed again, bringing your finger down the side of his neck and toying with the collar of his shirt. You saw him gulp down a swallow, which only spurred you on.

“Well um, the, I know the guy who runs the mini-mart on the other side of the street! Maybe he saw your friend. I could give you his number, or-or his address!”

He was so eager to help you almost felt bad for using him. Almost.

“Why don’t you write those down for me,” you murmured, leaning in close to his ear. You could see Sam and Dean out of the corner of your eye from that new angle. Dean’s knuckles were white against the table where he was grabbing it. Mission accomplished it seemed.

“O-Okay,” the man stammered. You watched his shaky hand scribble the owner’s info under his own number on the bar napkin. You offered him a smile as he handed it to you. A thought fluttered in your mind; the man had given you a possible witness in a dead-end case, and he’d served your need of making Dean jealous. You could repay him a bit.

So you leaned over and pressed a quick, innocent kiss to his lips. You pulled back before he could get too excited, swiping the bit of lipstick you’d left on his lip off with your thumb. His eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Thanks again for your help Harry.”

He looked like he would faint, but he managed to stutter out “it’s uh, Henry” as you turned and walked away, napkin in hand. Sam had a look of slight admiration on his face, and Dean looked like he was about to blow as gasket.

Definitely mission accomplished. Point 1 to you.

“I got an address, I think we should go give our possible witness a visit.” You went to pass the napkin to Dean, but pulled it back.

“Oh wait, let me just put this in my phone real quick,” you pretended to be a bit sheepish, pulling out your phone and typing in the top number under a new contact.

“You gettin’ directions?” Sam asked, standing up from the table and putting his suit jacket back on.

“No, just uh... putting in a number, for possible future use, if you know what I mean.”

You turned and passed the note to Dean, putting on your best innocent face. He was fuming.

“My lipstick isn’t smeared, is it?” You asked, feigning innocence.

“No, it looks fine. Didn’t know it took saliva exchange to get an address these days,” he grumbled, tucking the paper into his suit pocket.

“Alright Mr. double standards. I’m allowed to have fun once in a while.”

You raised an eyebrow, daring him to challenge you. Instead he just grumbled under his breath, fishing the Impala’s keys out of his pocket as the three of you headed for the parking lot.

“I think we can officially call this one a bust. She just died, nothing fishy about it,” Dean sighed, tossing the file back onto the motel table and running a finger over his eyes.

“Agreed,” Sam murmured, closing his laptop. You folded the newspaper back up, adding it to the pile of paper you’d be throwing away when you left.

“We’ve got the room for the night, might as well just crash and get as much sleep as we can. We’ll hit the road in the morning.”

“I call first shower,” Sam said, standing up and heading for his bag, carrying it into the bathroom with him. You waited until the water had been running for a few minutes to pull out your phone. Thumbing through your contacts, you found a friend that you could text. Not that Dean needed to know that.

He made it until the third message buzzed through before he asked.

“Whose blowin’ up your phone over there?” He tried to stay casual, but the venom in his tone seeped through his facade.

“Somebody.”

“Wow, paint me a picture why don’t you Y/N.”

“It’s just that guy from the bar. He wants to know if I’m up for another round.” The lie slipped easily off your tongue. You hadn’t even saved the dude’s number.

“How the hell did he get your number?”

“Oh, I gave it to him. Figured if he wanted something from me, he was going to have to commit, and make the first move.”

He caught on immediately, rolling his eyes at you.

“Are you kidding me? Is that what that stunt in the bar was about? You’re pissed at me over that?”

“Wow, paint me a picture Dean. You’re gonna have to be more specific, you do a lot of things that could piss me off,” you mocked him a bit, raising your eyes from your phone. You were being petty, and you knew it, but the hurt you’d felt at his words kept you going.

“This is all because I said I didn’t want to make things official, isn’t it? Wow. Didn’t realize you needed someone to call boyfriend so badly Y/N.” The water shut off, leaving the room in weighted silence, his words hanging in the air.

His defenses were going up, as you expected, and he was lashing out in the only way he knew how. You were tempted to stop, to just let it go. But at the same time, you were done putting up with it. Something had to change, one way or another.

“That is so not the point Dean.” You tried to keep your voice steady, but it was wavering, emotions threatening to break through.

“Then enlighten me.”

“You don’t get to just have me when you want me, okay!? That’s the fucking point! I can’t do this casual ‘platonic’ shit anymore, I care about you too much. You’re either in or you’re out with me, and if you can’t handle that then you just need to tell me, cause I’m done.”

“What do you mean you’re ‘done’? What, if I don’t start calling you honey you’re just gonna ditch?”

The rage that filled you had you burning to your fingertips.

“Did you listen to a word that I just said?”

He didn’t answer, just waited for you to continue.

“Fine. Whatever Dean. You wanna keep things casual? Fine.”

You had timed things just right, having snatched everything you needed out of your bag by the time Sam opened the bathroom door. You pushed past him into the overly-hot room, slamming the door and locking it.

It took you a moment to get yourself together again. Why did he have to be such a dick sometimes? Half the time, you weren’t sure why you put in the effort at all.

But images of his smile danced across your mind, and you remembered exactly who the real Dean - your Dean - was. He was the guy who made you your coffee in the morning without you having to ask, who carried your bags for you. The guy who stitched your wounds and gave you the curliest curly fry even though you knew he wanted it.

You just didn’t understand why he couldn’t be that way all the time. Why he fought his feelings so hard. Because he did have feelings for you... right?

The familiar pit of insecurity began to form in your stomach, making you feel nauseous. Maybe he didn’t feel that way about you at all, and that was why he was fighting it so hard. Which would mean you’d just made a complete fool of yourself out there.

Shit.

You stripped down and showered quickly, trying to let the water wash away the feeling of dread that had settled over you. It didn’t work, and you weren’t surprised. It was going to take a lot more than lukewarm water to settle your nerves.

You stalled once you were out, not wanting to go back out and face Dean. You couldn’t go back out there after being so confident, only to falter now. He was going to have to make a decision one way or another - it was the only way you could settle your fears. And somewhere, deep down, you knew he felt the same way about you. He had to, or you weren’t sure you could take it. You just had to get him to admit it.

You just had to hit him where it hurt.

So you set your plan in motion, reaching into Sam’s bag; he’d left it on the counter when you’d rushed him out. You found one of his old soft t-shirts, sliding it over your head before putting on the underwear and shorts you’d brought in with you. You towel dried your hair until it was done dripping before taking a deep breath and leaving the room.

The boys were both in their beds; Sam sprawled out in the middle of his, while Dean was on one side, leaving space for you like he always did. You didn’t look at him when you approached Sam’s bed.

“Scootch,” you muttered, nudging the bed with your knee. Sam looked up at you from his book, confusion written all over his face.

“Huh?”

“You heard me, you always get a bed to yourself. Time to switch up the friendly arrangement. Now scootch.”

Sam didn’t ask any questions, though he definitely noticed the unwarranted death glare he got from his brother as he wiggled his way to the other side of the bed. You climbed under the covers, putting your back towards Dean and curling up on your side, willing yourself to sleep.

Dean’s gaze was burning into your back again and you heard him get up and head for his shower. He never showered at night... it was working.

As soon as the water turned on, Sam angled towards you.

“You wanna fill me in on the argument you just put me in the middle of?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

You felt immediately guilty. Using Sam was different, because you actually cared about the guy.

“Dean’s being a dick, so I’m just trying to piss him off.”

“And I’m involved in that how exactly?”

“Best way to make Dean mad is to make him jealous, you know that.”

That seemed to make it click with the younger Winchester, who just smiled.

“This is about him not wanting to officially date, isn’t it?”

“He told you about that?!” You exclaimed, sitting up a bit.

“Of course he did, he thought you were gonna leave you were so mad, he was freakin out!”

“I’m not gonna leave.”

“He doesn’t know that, he’s more accustom to people leaving than people staying.”

Ouch. That one cut deep.

“I’m not trying to hurt him. I’m just trying to get him to admit what he feels. He said that what he have is platonic, but I know there’s more there. At least, I think that there is.” I hope that there is.

“If you’re questioning whether or not he has feelings for you, don’t. He likes you, he’s just... well, he’s just Dean. He needs a push.”

“Like me choosing to sleep in his brother’s bed instead of his kind of push?” You quirked an eyebrow, grinning. The dread inside you had settled at Sam’s words, and you were back to having a bit of fun.

“Why must you involve me in your devious plans?”

“Because you love me,” you teased, poking his arm. It was true that you and Sam had become fast friends, and there really wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for each other, even if it meant incurring the wrath of Dean.

“Fine. But if you steal the covers I’m booting you out,” he grumbled, flicking off the lamp and putting his book on the nightstand. He wiggled under the covers next to you, settling down to sleep.

It was three am, and something was moving. Your eyes shot open as a heavy weight was moved off of you. It took you a moment in the darkness to realize that is was Sam’s arm being removed from where he had slung it over you in his sleep.

Two familiar arms slid underneath you, lifting you out of the bed. If he hadn’t been so warm you would have protested leaving your spot under the covers.

“What’re you doin’?” You slurred, voice thick with sleep.

“Puttin’ you back where you belong,” Dean answered, pulling back the covers before laying you down in his bed and climbing in beside you. The sheets were cold and you grimaced, curling back up to him, seeking warmth. He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, holding you close to him.

“I have conditions,” you murmured, pressing your cold nose up to his neck - February in Indiana was no joke, and the motel’s heating was lack luster at best.

“Conditions on what?” He said, running a hand through your damp hair. His hands moved down your back, grabbing your hips and pulling you on top of him.

“Us sleeping in the same bed,” you said, eyes still closed. If you were honest, you didn’t want to move an inch from where you were, but you were just stubborn enough to do it if you needed to.

“Do tell.”

“I get to be your girlfriend, for starters.”

“Okay. What else.”

That woke you up.

“Wait. Did you hear me?” You asked, sitting up a bit. His eyes were bright, lit up by the neon sign light trickling in through the curtains.

“Yeah. Girlfriend. I hear yah. What else?” His voice was so casual that you weren’t sure you weren’t dreaming.

“You’re serious? What changed your mind?”

He reached up to cup your cheek with his hand; you rested your head there, letting the weight settle in his palm.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to Y/N. I just don’t have the best history with relationships, you know? So I wanted to keep you at arms length, because that’s how I keep from gettin’ hurt. But you’re different. You’ve always been different, and I was stupid to wait until you were at your breakin’ point with me to see that.”

“Really?” You couldn’t contain your excitement, and the spike in your voice almost woke up Sam, who groaned and rolled over in his sleep.

“Yeah, really sweetheart. You gave me an option - in or out. I choose in, all in, if the offer still stands.”

“Of course it does,” you smiled, wiggling up his body to kiss him. It was different than your past kisses - no faint buzz of liquor numbing your lips. You could feel every bit of it and it was glorious.

“You never told me what else,” he whispered, lips moving down to your neck, pressing harder kisses there. You felt the scrape of his teeth, making you shudder.

“What?”

“Conditions,” he said into your skin.

“Oh. Um, well... I wanna ride up front more in Baby.”

“And why is that sweetheart?” His voice was so smooth you felt like you were being put in a trance, no control over your words anymore.

“You look hot when you drive,” you admitted, blush warming your cheeks. He chuckled, nipping at your skin.

“That can be arranged. What else?” He pressed.

“No hickeys,” you whispered, though you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to stop what he was doing.

“Deal breaker,” he said slowly, resting his lips against your skin.

“Okay, no visible hickeys,” you countered.

“That I can agree to,” he smirked, hooking a finger in the collar of your shirt and easing it down so he could get to your collarbone, set on leaving tiny marks there.

You let him do his work, ignoring the fact that you could feel him hardening underneath you. You weren’t up for that tonight, and Sam was only a few feet away anyhow.

You were so relaxed that you were pretty sure you could have fallen asleep right then and there if the adrenaline hadn’t been buzzing through your veins.

He finally stopped, seemingly satisfied with whatever he had accomplished. You were sure you’d be blushing bright red when you saw it in the morning.

“Can I put in a condition?” He mused, holding you to him as he sat up. You rested on his lap, completely content.

“Of course.”

“How about the first night we spend in bed as a couple you aren’t in my brother’s shirt.” His fingers bunched up the fabric where it rested on your hips.

“That can be arranged,” you grinned. He looked up at you and you nodded as he started to lift the shirt up, pulling it over your head.

His eyes raked over your bare torso, soaking it all in. He’d never seen this much of you before.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, and you weren’t sure he even realized he said it out loud.

You shivered, half from his words and half from the chill in the room.

“Cold?”

“A little.” You admitted, blushing bright red.

“Here,” he said, reaching behind himself and grabbing the back of his shirt, pulling it off in one tug. Before you could say anything he had pulled it down over your head, helping to guide your arms into the holes. It smelled like him, and the warmth he’d left on it soaked into you, relaxing you even more.

“Now you’re gonna be cold,” you pouted, tracing a finger over his bare chest.

“Nah honey, I’ll be fine. You’re practically a space heater. C’mere.” He coaxed you down onto him again, and you wiggled until you were comfortable, legs intertwined with his under the covers. You let out a yawn and he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Get some sleep beautiful. You can ride up front tomorrow, since apparently I’m hot when I drive.”

“So hot,” you muttered, cuddling up to him even closer as you started to drift off. You weren’t sure if you imagined it or not, but you could have sworn you heard three little words fall from his lips, but you were too far gone to ask him. All you knew is you felt the same.

leave me feedback?? ill love you forever

#idk where this came from haha #but uh #HERE U GO #aintnotnetwork #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #i kinda like this one ngl #pls leave me feedback #dean winchester imagine

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mythiica · 6 years ago

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Reader x Levi Ackerman - Blood Rusted Memories

Title: Blood Rusted Memories

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Character: Levi Ackerman

Genre: angst

Warnings: Strong language, violent imagery, MAJOR SPOILERS!!!!!

Intended Gender Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 1809 words

Shameless self promo: check out my dA

Other comments: THIS HAS MAJOR SPOILERS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE LATEST CHAPTERS OF AOT YOU WILL BE IN FOR A BIG SPOILER

You never expected to see him again.

Five years ago, you left the Survey Corps because you could not stand to watch everyone throw away their lives for the possibility of a better life. The future was too unstable, and you refused to wager your heart and soul to a man who had no intentions of keeping them safe.

But despite your efforts, here he is. Slung over Hanji’s shoulder and covered in dark crimson from head to toe. The patch had slipped off of her eye, revealing a mangled scar and void that once held an eye. But she pays little attention to it, instead insisting that you let them both in to your little cottage immediately because people were going to try to kill him.

You could have slammed the door in her face, but your gaze drifts from her trembling lips to his masked face. In the years that you had fought beside him, he had never been so reckless as to allow himself an injury, but now…

“Mama, who is that?” your son asks you, clinging to your skirt. Your hand lands on his head, stroking his hair tenderly before you push him into the house. “Tell your sister to stay in the kitchen. If someone knocks on the door, do not answer. Understood?”

Hanji helps you lower him into the bathtub, and you begin to remove his ragged clothes before throwing them into the sink. You don’t know whether to wash his wounds first or to stop the bleeding. At this rate, he would die from how much blood he is losing, so you rip your skirt and wrap his head, only leaving room for his mouth and nose to poke through.

She tries to help, but you swat her away, telling her to attend to her own wounds before she thinks of helping Levi. You take a sponge and clean the dirt and blood from the rest of his body. When you lift his arm, you realize that he is missing two of his fingers… how sad.

Why has it come to this? you ask yourself as scarlet swirls down the drain. Must you be obsessed with your own demise? He begins to stir, groaning and kicking his legs.

You place a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to push him down, and as soon as your fingers curl over his bare skin, he relaxes and sulks back against the tub. “Where the fuck am I?”

“You still have a foul mouth as ever. But you will not speak to my children like that.”

Even though the bandage restricts him from seeing your face, he immediately knows who it is from the sound of your voice. And in two sentences, you’ve stirred old memories and revealed that you have children… A breath escapes from his bruised lips before he whispers, “(Y/n)… you’re alive.”

“Better than what you can say. Shut up now, because I think the bleeding at your face as stopped. I need to clean your eye and maybe I can save it.”

“My eye?”

He didn’t realize that his face was scarred up? You raise an eyebrow and unravel the fabric. Indeed the flow of blood had reduced, so you tap the sponge to his cheek. Levi winces and pulls back immediately, lifting his hand to touch the flesh.

“Stop that.”

He curses under his breath, but continues to feel the scar. As his fingers nails press against the torn muscles, a disgusting squelching sound makes your stomach flip.

“I said stop. You barely escaped with your life. This will heal, but let me clean it.”

Levi looks at you for the first time since you’ve removed the makeshift bandage. His left eye is as dull as the injured one, as the life had left it many years ago. “When did you learn to be so demanding?”

You laugh wryly, dipping the sponge into the tub. “After Henry really.”

“Your son?”

“No, my late husband.”

Levi does not ask any more questions, leaving the two of you in silence until you’ve successfully washed away the dirt and dried blood. You stand, drying your hands on a towel, before throwing a bar of soap into the tub. “Clean yourself again, and I’ll get a needle and find something to keep that wound closed.”

He keeps his head forward, but nods slightly, acknowledging what you’ve said. Downstairs, you look through the measly medicine cabinet until you’ve found some small bandage strips that you can use to close the wound until Levi can visit a proper doctor.

Your daughter tugs on your hand, drawing your attention down. “Mommy, there’s someone at the door.” When you look up, you see shadow through the glass of the front door. “Take this upstairs to the bathroom, and don’t come down. Tell the lady to not say anything either, alright?”

She does as told, allowing you to walk to the door. “Yes?”

Three soldiers, equally bloodied as Hanji and Levi were, lean against the frame of the door. They wear mean scowls and try to step inside, but you block the from entering. “May I help you?”

“Did two people come around here?”

“People?”

“Yeah, one with brown hair and an eye patch, the other a short guy with black hair. We’re looking for them – they’re traitors to the Crown and we’ve been sent to collect them.”

You see right through their lie; the patches on their uniforms are that of the Survey Corps, not the Military Police or the Garrison. Why would the royal family send Survey Corps to search for traitors?

“I don’t know, I’m afraid. No one has been here in days.”

One of them cocks their head to the side. “Really? Why are there fresh footprints in the mud outside?”

You smile and force a laugh. “I was doing laundry earlier. My son fell in the woods the other day and scuffed his skin. I had to wash the blood from his clothes, and because of the mud, I wore my husband’s boots.”

They almost believe your story. “Can we speak with him?”

“My husband? I’m afraid not.”

“Why is that?” another one demands.

“He went to the market this morning to try and sell some items we had lying around. He won’t be back until much later.”

“You don’t mind if we look through your house, though, do you? We’ll only be a minute. Just to… verify your story.”

Exhaling, you side step and allow the soldiers to enter. “Of course. I’m afraid I won’t have any food at the moment to offer you. Times have been hard lately…”

You hear shuffling upstairs, so you cough to cover the sounds.

“Have an animal?”

“No,” you laugh, “just two energetic children.”

Your heart thunders as they go through each room, intently looking at everything before moving on. One picks up your boots, and a chunk of dried mud falls from the soles, making your story more plausible.

One of the men sits down, putting his feet up on the table. “So, while you were washing the clothes, you splashed bloodied water over yourself?” He points at your apron, which is covered in diluted scarlet dots and specks of mud.

“The knock at the door startled me, and I dropped the sponge I was using.”

Without saying anything, the other two go upstairs as the one keeps you busy.

“Sorry for that...” he fibs, looking around the small kitchen. He’s trying to give his partners more time to search the upstairs. You only hope that Hanji and Levi managed to hide.

After a few minutes, you hear voices upstairs – your son and daughter talking with the men. Then, four pairs of feet descend. “We’ll be leaving now.”

With that, they exit the house, and you lock the door behind them. Your daughter comes to sit on your lap, but you raise a finger, signaling that she should not speak. “Would you like something to drink, sweetie?”

You don’t know if the soldiers bought your story, so it would be best to play it casually for a few minutes.

When you look out the window, you see their silhouettes pressed against the horizon, so you run upstairs. “Hanji? Levi?”

She exists from your room, having hid in the closet with Levi. “The both of you should rest. I can go to into town to get some medicine.”

But Hanji presses a hand to your shoulder. “We should not have come here. We can leave.”

You look at Levi, who has pressed himself against the bed and fallen to the ground. “They won’t come back. This is the safest place you can stay for a few days. Until you figure out what to do. It’s alright.”

She tries to protest, but you turn away and put Levi onto your bed, wrapping him in the blankets. “Did my daughter give you the clips?”

He nodded and put them in the palm of your hand. You remove the backs and press the skin of his face together before taping the small strips over the wound. They would act as staples and help the muscles heal faster. “Are you in pain?”

“Of course I am. Half of my face is fucking torn.”

“I don’t have anything right now, but tomorrow I will get some.”

You stand up, but Levi catches your hand. You look down, tempted to shake him off, but the subtle warmth from his skin makes your heart calm down. “While you’re here, I don’t want you to know my children’s names. Don’t talk to them more than you have to. Do not leave the house when I am not present either. This is for your safety, but also for my children’s and mine. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

The pad of his thumb rubs against your calloused hand, making you choke on the memories that surface. You thought you had buried them deep enough that they could not haunt you, but now, the man you thought was unbreakable, had come back, shattered and bruised. Although he had not asked you to mend him, you knew that was simply because he could not find the words to do so.

“I will get some more blankets. If you catch a fever, you’ll surely die.”

Levi knows his place now. Memories are memories, even if the past might not be too far away. You had decided your life then and made the most of it, choosing a life without him. You were not responsible for him in anyway, but here you were, risking your live and the lives of your children for him.

“Thank you,” he whispers, completely humbled by this realization. He was in no position to reject your help, and in fact, he was very surprised you had bothered to do so much for him.

“Of course, Levi.”

#attack on titan #levi ackerman #aot #aotchapter115 #aotspoilers #shingeki no kyojin #readerinsert #fanfiction

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believingispowerfulmagic · 6 years ago

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“The Christmas Engagement” Chapter 9: Not Too Late for a Happy Ending

Robin put Roland to bed, kissing his son goodnight. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Roland said. He hugged his Teddy bear closer. “Papa, if you don’t have to go to work tomorrow, do I still have to go to school?”

“Yes, you do,” he replied, sitting on the edge of Roland’s bed. “It’s the Christmas party. You don’t want to miss that, do you?”

Roland looked conflicted as he thought about it. “But you’re not often home. I want to spend time with you before you have to go to work again.”

It touched Robin that his son wanted to be with him and he leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “We’ll have all of next week together, my boy. We can spend all the time you want together. How does that sound?”

“Good,” Roland declared. He grew thoughtful again before asking: “Can we also spend time with Regina and Henry? I like being around them.”

Robin’s smile faltered and he took a deep breath, hating to disappoint his son. “I think they’re going to busy. Maybe we can see if they’re free in the New Year.”

“Okay, Papa,” Roland said, disappointed. He rolled over. “Good night.”

“Good night, Roland. I love you.” Robin kissed his son’s cheek again before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

He returned downstairs to work out a budget in order to make his savings last. As he reached the bottom step, though, a knock interrupted the silence in his house. Not expecting anyone, he checked out the window to see who it was. Surprise filled him when he saw Regina standing on his doorstep, her form bathed in the pale light of his porch light.

Robin opened the door and she looked up at him nervously. She held up her phone. “I got your messages. Sorry I didn’t return them sooner. It’s been a busy day.”

“I can imagine,” he said, amazed she was apologizing to him and wondering what she was doing there. He stepped aside. “Do you want to come in?”

She nodded, entering the house and letting him shut out the cold weather. Regina looked up the stairs. “Is Roland in bed?”

“I just put him down,” he said, motioning to the kitchen. “We can talk in here.”

“I wanted to check on you after last night. How are you?” she asked.

He paused, wondering how to answer that question. The last thing she needed was his problems. But glancing at the mess of papers on the table, he decided to tell the truth anyway. There had been enough lies. “I got fired today.”

Regina’s eyes widened and the color drained from her face. She looked sick at the thought and he knew she was blaming herself for what had happened. “I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you to lie. You don’t deserve to be punished for my stupidity.”

“Hey, hey, don’t beat yourself up,” he said, rubbing her arms. “Prince John and Keith have been looking for a reason to fire me. It was bound to happen.”

“That doesn’t make it right. And I hate that I finally gave them the reason to fire you,” she said.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I hate that I ruined the deal for you, Regina. I am so sorry about that and understand if you want your money back.”

She frowned, shaking her head. “That’s not why I came here and you didn’t ruin the deal for me.”

“I should’ve told you about my less than stellar past,” he said, not believing her. Of course she wouldn’t take the money back now that she knew he had no income coming in. And she was just too kind to blame him out loud.

Regina crossed her arms as she leaned in. “Robin, do you honestly think I chose you on whim?”

“Didn’t you?” he asked, recalling her story about Gold giving her his headshot and her liking how real he looked compared to the others.

“Partly,” she acknowledged, “but I did also run a background check on you.”

The implications of that sunk into Robin and he looked at her with wide eyes. “You knew?”

She nodded. “I knew you were arrested and served time. And I also knew you had cleaned yourself and your life up. You’ve kept your nose clean ever since getting out of jail and have been a productive member of society. It was clear that everyone but management at the store respected you and I heard all about the good works you’ve done around town. That’s what mattered to me.”

Warmth spread though him at her words and he felt himself blush. “I try to be the best man I can be. For Roland’s sake.”

“I know,” she said, reaching out and placing her hand on his arm. “And you are a good man, Robin Locksley. I’m sorry I pulled you into my deception.”

He shook his head, hoping to get her to stop blaming herself. “I agreed to it. I knew what I was getting myself into and I really thought it was going to work.”

“Me too,” she said.

“I’m sorry it didn’t,” he said, covering her hand with his as he looked into her eyes. “You deserved to make that deal.”

She grinned. “I still might make it. Zelena and I crashed the board meeting today and made one last pitch. They seemed very interested in what we had to say, especially after all the crazy things Leopold made us do this month.”

“Yeah, he did put you through a lot,” Robin agreed, glad to hear all wasn’t lost for her. “I hope you get it.”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry I didn’t defend you better last night. It was unfair for Leopold and Victoria to say all of that to you,” she told him.

He grinned at her, trying to reassure her. “There was a lot happening last night and you defended me as best as you could. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

She leaned in and he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her. It felt good to have her in his arms again and he rested his cheek against her head. “I am so glad I got to meet you, Regina.”

“I’m glad I got to meet you too,” she said, pulling away. She looked up at him, uncertainty in her eyes. “It wasn’t an act. Not at the end. I really care for you, Robin. In fact, I might even love you.”

His heart skipped a beat at her confession and he smiled. It hadn’t been his imagination or just wishful thinking. All the loving looks and caresses had been real. There was a chance for them to have a real relationship. He just had to take it.

“It wasn’t an act for me either,” he told her. “I think I love you too. I would love a chance to find out.”

Her smile was blinding and she held onto him tighter. “I’d be happy to give you that chance.”

Robin cupped her head, leaning in to give her a real proper kiss—not something meant just for show. She met him eagerly, the two holding each other as they kissed in his kitchen. He ran his fingers through her hair as he nibbled on her lower lip. She opened up for him, allowing him to deepen the kiss. It felt so right to kiss her and he felt so much lighter knowing he’d get a chance to kiss her as much as they both wanted for the foreseeable future.

They broke the kiss due to a need for air and he pressed his forehead to hers. She smiled. “I hope it’s not too late to ask you to spend Christmas with us.”

“It’s not,” he assured her. “And you’re going to make Roland’s day. He was hoping to see you and Henry again. You’ve also captured my son’s heart, it seemed.”

“Only fair. He took mine as well,” she told him, still smiling.

She then turned her head and her smile fell away as she looked at his statements. Robin’s heart sank as he had forgotten about those and didn’t want her to feel guilty. “I’ll find another job. Don’t worry about me.”

“There’s always one for you at Fantastical Finds,” she offered. “I would love to have you work for us.”

It was a tempting offer and he wanted to take it. After all, the rest of her family worked there—it would just be another way he fit in should he be able to join them for real this time. But something pulled at him. When he tapped into it, he discovered a truth about himself.

“I would love to continue working at the grocery store. I loved interacting with all my neighbors and helping people, even if it was just getting them something off the shelves. I feel I could do so much good there,” he said.

She nodded, taking his hand. “Then you should fight to get your job back, just like I fought to keep the deal with Blanchard Electronics alive.”

He liked her idea but there was some problem. “And how would I do that?”

“Richard Lionheart was Zelena’s prom date,” she replied, surprising him. She held up her phone. “We’ve known the family for years. I can make a call and get you a meeting. You would have to do the rest.”

Hope and excitement filled Robin as he hugged her. “You are an angel, Regina Mills. Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I can do,” she said. “Look, I have to get home to tuck Henry in but I’ll text you after I talk with Richard. Call me tomorrow?”

Robin nodded, giving her a kiss again. “I will. I promise.”

“Good.” She gave him a kiss as well, apparently as eager as he was to do it over and over. “Good night, Robin.”

“Good night, Regina,” he said. He escorted her to the door and after a few more kisses, he watched her get in her car and drive away.

Closing the door, he returned to the kitchen and cleaned up his financial statements. As he did so, he found one of his headshots. He slid into a chair, looking at it. Robin had just taken a chance on Regina and he was going to get a chance to get his job back. Maybe it was time to take another chance as well.

He picked up his phone and hit Belle’s number. It rang a few times and when she picked up, he greeted her before asking: “Do you still have the contact information for that agent you were talking about?”

Continue reading on FFN, AO3, or Wattpad

#once upon a time #outlaw queen #oq au #oq ff #oq advent #oq christmas #the christmas engagement

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neon-mooni · 6 years ago

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Okay so imagine Season 3, but with Iris and Barry’s roles swapped.

Barry runs to the future only to see his friends begging Savitar to spare his life.

When Savitar stabs Future Barry, Future Cisco was the first one to move to his friend.

Barry watches his future self dying in his best friend’s arms before he’s pulled out of the future by Jay.

“Jay? What the hell was that? Where was I?” Barry asks with confusion.

“The future.” Jay informs.

“The future. I've never run to the future. I've traveled to the past, but I always came back to the present. I saw myself. And Cisco.

And Savitar, what... he killed me. That's five months from now. Is that actually gonna happen?” Barry asks, afraid of the answer.

“I don’t know.” Jay answers.

“You don’t…” Barry starts to say.

“You shouldn’t have seen that.” Jay sighs.

“This doesn't make sense, we... we just got rid of the Philosopher's Stone. I mean, Savitar shouldn't have even been there! Oh, my God. This is why the newspaper in the time vault changed. The byline, this is why it's not Iris, this... Iris didn't write that story anymore eight years from now, because... I’m dead.” Barry realizes.

“Barry…” Jay warns, trying to get him to stop talking.

“I just watched myself die! Jay, tell me that this isn't my destiny!” Barry pleads.

“What you saw was one possibility of the future. What may be, or may not.” Jay tells him.

“Okay, then I can stop this from happening. I can run back there...” Barry suggests.

“You can't go back there. Not again, not ever.” Jay warns.

“All right, then I'll figure out exactly how it happened, how we wind up on that street, and I'll just make sure that we don't go there. And if we don't go there...” Barry’s voice trails off.

“Barry! This is why speedsters don't travel to the future. Nobody should know this much about their own. Just as there are infinite Earths in the multiverse, there are infinite possibilities to the future. It's always bending, always changing. Every decision you make creates another alternative.” Jay tries to get through to him.

“I’m not ready to die!” Barry protests.

“The future isn't written yet. And it might not even turn out to be what you saw. You need to focus on the here and now. You have to live your life.” Jay pleads.

“Live my life? How Jay? I die in five months!” Barry screams.

Imagine Barry keeping it a secret, because he knows how everyone reacted the last time he accidentally time traveled: Flashpoint memories hello!

Imagine Barry turning down his invitation to the Christmas party because he knows that it’ll be his last ever Christmas.

Imagine Julian confronting him about it.

“Barry, talk to me. What’s going on?” Julian pleads. I’m going to die Julian. Barry thinks. Sighing, he knew he had to tell him.

“I don’t want to celebrate Christmas.” Barry finally speaks.

“Why?” Julian asks with confusion.

“When I threw the Philosopher's Stone into the Speed Force, I accidentally ran five months into the future, and…saw Savitar kill me.” Barry tells him.

“And you don’t want to celebrate it because it’ll be your last Christmas.” Julian figures out.

“Precisely.” Barry answers.

Imagine Barry going down to lawyer’s office the next day and getting his affairs in order because he knows he’s going to die.

Upon his death, Cisco would become the new owner of Star Labs.

Imagine Barry becoming reckless because he only has five months to live so he might as well live life to the fullest.

Imagine Joe confronting him about his reckless behavior.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

Imagine Barry being tempted by the box the stone is in. “Henry Allen” appears telling him that if he opens it, that they can be a family again. Barry opens the box, and Caitlin has to try to convince him to close the box.

Barry doesn’t listen and Caitlin pleads. Barry eventually closes the box.

Barry still hasn’t told the team about his murder.

2024

Barry stands outside next to his own grave, watching as future Joe puts flowers on it.

“Hey Joe.” Barry calls, trying to get his attention.

“Why are you here Barry?” Joe asks.

“I just wanted to see you. See how you were doing.” Barry answers, getting closer.

“This isn’t real. My son’s life was taken, he’s dead.” Joe reminds himself.

“Joe please.” Barry calls.

“I’m gonna need you to leave Barry. Please!” Joe sobs, and that’s when Barry walks away. If Joe was like this, then Iris must be devastated, Barry realizes, and that’s when he goes to the apartment.

When he goes to the apartment, he slowly walks inside, to see it in ruins.

“You’re from before you die, aren’t you?” A voice greets, and that’s when Barry turns around.

“Cisco.” Barry gasps, and that’s when Cisco runs over to Barry, pulling him into a hug.

“What happened to the apartment?” Barry asks, afraid of the answer.

“When you died, Iris couldn’t take living in a place surrounded by your things, so she moved out.” Cisco answered.

“And Wally?” Barry asks, also afraid of the answer. Cisco’s eyes become somber at this question.

“He…Follow me.” Cisco sighs, leading him to Joe’s place. When Barry gets to Joe’s, Cecile almost had a heart attack.

“Barry? How are you…that’s not…you’re dead. How?” Cecile stammers.

“I’m from 2017. I came here to see Wally. Is he here?” Barry asks.

“He…you need to see him.” Cecile stammers, her eyes becoming somber as well. Slowly, she opens the door, and that’s when she, Barry and Cisco walk inside, closing the door.

“Hey Wally, I brought someone to see you.” Cecile calls. Slowly, Barry focuses on his surroundings. Wally was sitting in a wheelchair, staring at the wall. Barry expected him to look towards the door opening, but Wally didn’t seem to be responding to any external stimuli. Slowly, Barry walks over to him.

“Wally. Hey, it’s me.” He calls, hoping to get a response. Nothing.

“Hey! Can you hear me?” Barry asks, gently putting his hand on Wally’s leg. Still, there was nothing.

“What happened to him?” Barry asks, afraid of the answer.

“You died, and it sent him into this rage, and, uh, he went after Savitar alone one night. Joe found him, the next day, with a shattered spine. He’s been like this ever since.” Cisco sighs.

“Where’s Julian?” Barry asks, also afraid of the answer.

“Oh, he works at Iron Heights now.” Cisco answers, and that’s when Barry walks outside, taking Cisco to Iron Heights with his speed. When they walk inside, Barry stands in the shadows, watching as Julian empties a tray into the trash.

“Been a while Cisco. What brings you here?” Julian asks.

“Well…” Cisco starts, motioning for Barry to come out of the shadows. Slowly, Barry steps out of the shadows. Julian couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Allen?” He asks with confusion.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Barry answers.

“I don’t understand. You’re dead, mate.” Julian says in confusion.

“I’m from 2017, from before I die.” Barry answers simply.

It was then that he notices that Julian was wearing glasses.

“When did you start wearing glasses?” Barry asks, to which Julian chuckles.

“My vision started to get blurry in 2020, it was then that I found out that I needed glasses.” Julian answers.

“Did we ever find Caitlin?” Barry asks.

“We did.” Julian answers.

“And?” Barry asks, wanting him to continue.

“And you need to follow me.” Julian instructs, taking Barry to Caitlin’s cell.

“I tried to find her something more humane, but this is the best that I could do.” Julian informs.

“Caitlin.” Barry calls.

“Barry Allen. You’re dead though.” Killer Frost greets.

“I’m from 2017, from before I die.” Barry answers.

“Caitlin would be so happy to see you. Too bad I don’t care.” Killer Frost chuckles.

“Maybe not, but I know Caitlin would.” Barry reminds her.

“Caitlin Snow, is gone.” Killer Frost reminds him.

“I know.” Barry states, and that’s when he walks away from the cell, returning to the main room.

“Where’s Iris?” Barry asks. A part of Barry was afraid to find out, but if he was spending five months here, then he needs to know.

“She’s been in the time vault since you died. We’ve been bringing her food, water, and clothes, but she still won’t leave the time vault.” Julian answers.

“And HR?” Barry asks, afraid of the answer.

“He’s currently on a book tour somewhere in India. He should be back in three days.” Cisco answers. After that, Barry decides to race down to Star Labs, where he finds Joe.

“This isn’t real. Your son is dead.” Joe reminds himself when Barry races in.

“Joe, please. Turn around.” Barry pleads. Hesitantly, Joe turns around, and that’s when his heart breaks.

“Bar?” He asks, still not believing his eyes.

“Yeah, Joe, it’s me.” Barry greets, and that’s when Joe pulls Barry closer.

Barry goes to visit Iris later, who is in very bad shape. Iris even thinks that she’s hallucinating.

Future Team Flash pulls Barry in for a meeting.

“You still haven’t told us about your murder have you?” Joe asks.

Barry sighs.

“Joe, to you it may have been years since you chewed me out for Flashpoint, but to me, it hasn’t even been months. I’m not going to spend the five months that I have to live with all of you being angry at me again.”

“So what? You’d rather die than take a chance?!” Cisco shouts.

“If it means having my friends for the last five months that I have to live? Then yes.” Barry answers.

“Allen, listen to me, for us you’ll always be dead, but for them? They still have a world where they could save you. You have to tell them.” Julian pleads.

Barry runs back to his time and calls the Team in for a meeting where he tells them about his murder.

To Barry’s surprise they didn’t chew him out this time.

#The flash #The flash season 3 #What could have been

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blowmiakisscolin · 8 years ago

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Past the Clouds, We’ll Find the Stars [CS FF Oneshot]

This was supposed to be a little oneshot that was sparked from my headcanon about CS adopting. It took on a life of its own and…well, here it is. Thank you to @peggyyswan for being my ride or die, for always flailing with me and for reading this via photos of my laptop screen as I went along. I’ll post it on FFnet soon.

CS + Adoption and more: A dash of angst, a sprinkling of humor & a whole lotta fluff.

Title: Past the Clouds, We’ll Find the Stars Rating: T Words: 8.6K

“So…what do you think about adopting?”

It wasn’t a question Killian had been prepared for. Not at 11pm on a Monday night as they cuddled in bed watching Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. It struck him as more of an over-dinner conversation, or one inspired by watching TV shows involving infants, as opposed to run-down shacks serving questionable-looking yet apparently delicious meals.

He shifted to find his wife’s eyes, but she kept them fixed on the television screen, and his brow creased as he considered her. She was snuggled into his side, hand tracing idle patterns through his chest hair, cheeks aglow and hair tousled from their recent tumble between the sheets. But he had a feeling that the color on her cheeks had more to do with her question than their earlier pleasurable activities.

“Are you referring to a puppy or a child, darling?”

He asked carefully, watching her face. Emma frowned and pushed herself to sit up, wrapping her side of the bedsheet around her upper-half and finally meeting his gaze with a sigh and roll of her eyes..

“A kid, Killian. Clearly making our own isn’t working out for us.”

Her lips turned down and she reached for the TV controller, switching it off before turning her attention back to him. His heart had dropped a little at her words, a flash of that old self-loathing rearing its head momentarily. They’d been married for three years now, and had decided a little over a year earlier to try for a baby. They were in a good place, and it was something they’d talked about for awhile before they’d agreed it was time to stop using birth control.

Killian, of course, had been eager to get started, and for the first six months they’d enthusiastically enjoyed their attempts, trying out all of the borderline-acrobatic positions suggested on various online forums for couples trying to conceive. But none of it had seemed to work, and Killian couldn’t help but feel it was his fault somehow. Emma had reassured him that it was probably just timing and stress (“that forum said the more we obsess over it, the less likely we are to make a baby…stress hormones and all that shit? I don’t know. But it isn’t your fault.”) but he wasn’t fully convinced.

After eight months, they’d gone to Whale. Not an appointment either of them had been relishing, but if it meant they’d perhaps have an answer to why they weren’t conceiving, they were both willing to suffer through it. When the tests came back with no answers, both of them “perfectly fertile” according to Whale (and yes, they’d both shuddered at his phrasing), they were left with more questions than answers.

“Perhaps you’re just not compatible,”

Whale had shrugged as they’d been about to leave. Emma had glared at him, and snapped that they were “perfectly compatible, thank you very much”, before slamming the door and muttering curses about how unprofessional the doctor was the rest of the way home, But it was something that had stuck with Killian, as much as he’d tried to push it out of his mind.

What if the insensitive arse was right? What if he could never give Emma the baby she so wanted, because for some unexplained reason, they ‘weren’t compatible’? The thought had festered and eaten away at him for days, until Emma had finally called him out on his far-away looks and distracted responses.

She’d already forgotten Whale’s offhanded comment, so when he quietly admitted it had been playing on his mind, she’d kissed him fiercely and assured him with infectious conviction that Whale was wrong. They had True Love, they were perfect for one another. The Gods themselves had reunited them, and they’d defied all laws of life and death to be together. They’d get through this too.

She’d given him an adorable, lopsided grin then and told him that not even death could beat them, so this wouldn’t either. He’d fallen in love with her all over again that night and they’d made love until the first rays of dawn had danced across the floorboards. He was sure they’d conceived a baby that night, convinced in a way he had never felt previously. But a month later, and there was only another negative pregnancy test to show for it.

So now, hearing the slight defeat in Emma’s tone as she quietly admitted it wasn’t happening for them, he was sure he’d felt his heart crack in his chest. She’d been the optimistic one, the glimmer of hope in her eyes sparking his own each month as she’d disappeared into the bathroom for endless minutes, only to return with a sad smile and a shake of her head, a pregnancy test in her hand tauntingly spelling out “not pregnant”.

“Emma,” he said gently, voice cracking, “Are you saying you wish for us to stop trying?”

She shook her head vehemently.

“God, no. That’s not what I’m saying at all. But I’m not getting any younger, and your swimmers are already…kinda ancient,” she poked his side playfully, but he couldn’t find it in him to smile back at her and she sighed, “I’m not saying I want to give up. I just think that maybe we could at least consider adoption. To be honest, even if we’d had a baby already…I’d still be thinking about it. The life we have, and what we could offer a kid like that…I always wished for this kind of home when I was in the system. A home where I’d have been more than just a meal ticket, where the foster family actually really wanted me, and not just the money they got for taking me.”

Killian’s throat was suddenly dry, and he instinctively reached for her. He knew all too well that the long-ago feelings of abandonment and loneliness were never truly banished, and from the haunted look in his wife’s tear-filled eyes, he knew she was reliving some of her hardest years. He pulled her close, carding his fingers through her hair and murmuring gentle reassurances. When she finally relaxed in his arms, he pressed a kiss into her hair and pulled back to look at her.

“Emma, love, I am more than willing to open our home and our hearts to an orphan child. In fact, I think it’s a wonderful idea. We can prevent them from experiencing the life we had, and give them the kind of home and loving family I know we both dreamed of having as children. So, yes, let us look into adoption. I’m just…sorry I’ve failed you and been unable to give you a child of our own.”

Emma reached up and cupped his cheek, smiling sadly and shaking her head.

“You haven’t failed me, Killian. And a kid we adopt will still be our own. Look at how much Regina loves Henry. He’s her kid as much as he’s mine. You don’t have to give birth to a baby for them to be yours in your heart. I just…I know there’s a kid out there somewhere that’s waiting for us. And when we meet them…we’ll just know we were meant to be their parents.”

Killian leaned forward and kissed her, swallowing her gasp of surprise, and rolled her onto her back, the sheet falling away and leaving her bare to his gaze. He pressed a kiss over her heart before looking up into her eyes with so much love and admiration that she had to swallow the lump of emotion in her throat.

“What was that for?”

She asked, breathless. He smiled at her and pressed a tender kiss to her lips before replying.

“I need a reason to want to show my wife how much I love her? You’re a bloody marvel, my love. Any child will be lucky to have you choose to be their mother. Just as I feel lucky every day that you chose me to be your husband. What did I ever do to deserve the love of a woman with a heart as incredible and beautiful as yours?”

She knew it was a rhetorical question so she simply rolled her eyes and smiled, reaching up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Well, any child will be lucky to have you choose to be their father. And your heart is pretty damn great too, captain.”

// CS //

The adoption process was a new experience for both of them, It felt strange to Emma being on the opposite side of the system she’d grown up in, but at the same time she knew they’d made the right decision. Her parents had been as supportive as ever, and even Regina had been keen to help. Granted, Emma would have rather stayed oblivious as to how Regina had adopted their son, and the shady side-stepping she’d done with the help of Gold, but that was in the past, and she didn’t want to dwell on it too much.

What mattered now was their future, and the little girl they’d fallen in love with the first time they’d visited a group home in Boston. Initially, Emma had been wary about going back to one of those places, tempted to opt for the agency’s ‘catalogue’ of kids (another thing she actively chose not to think too much about, wondering bitterly if she’d appeared in her group homes’ child menus). But Killian reassured her that he shared her instinct - they needed to visit the homes. Which is exactly what they’d done.

Emma had gripped his hand so tightly on their first visit that he was sure she was going to cut off his circulation. But he simply squeezed back reassuringly, knowing that it was more than a little distressing for her to be willingly stepping back into the kind of place that had left lifelong scars on her soul.

Her grip on his hand had loosened a little when they’d met Elizabeth. The seven-year old had been sitting on the stairs, watching them silently through the wooden rails as the other children all chattered and bustled around. Emma had immediately been drawn to her, approaching tentatively with a kind smile, aware that the little girl was likely wary of getting her hopes up when prospective foster parents visited. She remembered that feeling all too well, and knew she’d probably worn the same expression.

“Hi…I’m Emma. What’s your name?”

“Elizabeth…”

She’d said softly, eyes boring into Emma’s as though searching for sincerity.

“That’s a lovely name. This is my husband, Killian. Would you like to come downstairs? We’d really love to meet you properly.”

Elizabeth had eyed them warily for a few moments before standing up and slowly making her way down the stairs to them.

“Y’know, I lived in a place like this when I was your age, too, Elizabeth. It’s not much fun, is it?”

The girl had peered up at her, slowly shaking her head.

“I had a mom and dad til I was three and then they had their own real kid and didn’t want me anymore. That’s why I live here now.”

Emma had stared at the child in shock, her heart stuttering as her own story was repeated back to her from the mouth of a skinny blonde child. History repeating. And no doubt it would keep repeating for Elizabeth, just as it had for Emma. She’d assured Killian that when they met the child they were meant to adopt, they’d just know. She’d been sure of it. And as she’d turned and looked up at him that day in the group home, he’d nodded. They’d known.

The adoption had moved quite quickly once the homestudy and all relevant checks had been completed. Emma had been nervous about those, sure that her background would immediately discount them, along with the fact that they’d had to basically make up a ‘normal’ life story for Killian and use some magical assistance to create evidence of such.

But, much to Emma’s surprise and relief, the fact that they lived in a small town, had a large family support system and held respectable jobs within the community (Sheriff and Deputy were apparently very pleasing titles to the homestudy people), along with owning their own home and having a ‘charming and well mannered’ son willing to testify to their parental suitabilities, it had all turned out very much in their favor. They’d passed with flying colors, and Emma had cried with happiness the moment the assessors had left.

It took a few more months after that for the agency to process their adoption papers, and a few extra months on top for all the legalities to be finalized. But eventually, eight months after they’d first met Elizabeth, they brought her home to Storybrooke. They’d been in touch with her constantly, visiting and letting her pick out everything for her room via Skype. She’d been reserved at first, and Emma knew she was holding back on getting her hopes up just in case they suddenly changed their minds. She got it. She’d been there.

But they didn’t change their minds. And when Emma and Killian picked her up, officially her mom and dad in the eyes of the law, she’d hugged them for the first time and Emma had tried her best to hold back tears, but failed miserably.

“Why are you crying? Did I do wrong?”

Elizabeth had asked, alarmed, and Emma had simply pulled her back into her arms, hugging her fiercely.

“God, no, kid. I’m just really happy that I get to be your mom, that’s all. I’m not crying because you did anything wrong, I’m crying because I’m happy.”

Killian watched the exchange with tears in his own eyes, and he remembered what Emma had said to him the night she’d brought up adoption for the first time, ten months earlier.

“You don’t have to give birth to a baby for them to be yours in your heart.”

And it was true. He loved Elizabeth just as much as he would have if she’d been his own by blood. He recognized so much of Emma, past and present, in the little girl too. The walls and the wariness; the quick wit and the stubborn streak. They even shared the same jade-green eyes and predilection for grilled cheese and every type of confectionary. It was uncanny really, and he was fully convinced fate had put her in their path.

The day Elizabeth came home, Snow had, of course, thrown a party at Granny’s. She wanted her new granddaughter to meet the rest of her family. Emma had warned her mother that she didn’t want Elizabeth to feel overwhelmed, so Snow had thankfully limited the ‘first party’ to their immediate family - herself and David, Regina, Zelena, Belle and Gold, and of course the children.

Elizabeth had seemed a little baffled at first by the fact that her new grandmother and mother seemed to be the same age, but she said nothing. Emma and Killian had discussed, at length, about how they’d broach the whole topic of magic, and had decided to hold off on that revelation until Elizabeth had settled in. Snow had assured them that children were a lot more open-minded than adults with such things, but they’d opted to wait nonetheless. A new family and new town were already a lot for a just-turned-eight year old to deal with.

It didn’t take long for her to settle though, and their home quickly became filled with toys and drawings, artwork stuck to the refrigerator door, and dolls and toy trucks scattered around the living room. Killian attempted to keep order, having a large wooden chest made with “Ellie” engraved on the front, which he put in the living room and informed his daughter that she now had no reason to leave her toys on the floor.

Emma loved to watch them together. He had a number of nicknames for their daughter, but he most often called her ‘Cygnet’, and Emma had to admit that was her favorite. It was Elizabeth’s favorite too, just as her favorite bedtime story was her parents’ love story, which Killian called The Princess and Her Pirate. She was unaware of the fact that every word of the story was true, and Emma often wondered about her reaction when they finally told her.

She’d been with them for almost three months and things had been going so smoothly. Ellie had settled in at her new school, she’d made a few friends and even started dance classes at the dance studio Tink had set up. The counsellor who visited to check on her (something Emma had never had when she was bouncing around foster homes) had been very pleased with how things were going, and the three of them couldn’t be happier.

Emma was so happy, in fact, that she hadn’t really been paying much attention to her cycle. When they’d been trying to conceive, she’d obsessed over it daily, but since starting the adoption process, she hadn’t so much as touched her ovulation tracker. It had been almost a year since she’d fretted over her hormone levels and the ideal date and time for them to try and knock her up. Which was why it came as such a surprise when she realized she was late. Very late.

Killian was over helping at her parents’ farm with Ellie, and she was supposed to be in work but had popped home to check she had everything prepared for the evening. It was their fourth wedding anniversary, and she’d been planning a surprise romantic picnic in their backyard for that night, complete with fairy lights and candles and rum. Ellie was staying at her grandparents’, which Snow had insisted on when she’d remembered it was Emma and Killian’s anniversary.

With her heart racing, Emma had frantically tried to figure out exactly how late she was as she high-tailed it over to the pharmacy, swearing Tom Clark to secrecy as she bought four pregnancy tests. She didn’t want Killian finding out via some offhanded comment from the pharmacy owner if he happened to stop by on his way home from the farm or hear through town gossip that seemed to travel faster than light in Storybrooke.

She also didn’t want to get either of their hopes up if it was a false alarm. She returned home with the tests, and it felt somewhat surreal to be going through the motions again when they’d long since stopped actively trying. They weren’t using birth control, but they also weren’t breaking their necks in crazy positions or poring over every website forum they could find for weird and wacky suggestions to aid their efforts. They had simply gone back to enjoying their lovemaking the way they had before they’d decided they wanted a baby.

The adoption process and now having an energetic eight-year old running around had proved to be quite.the conception aid though, apparently. And as Emma sat staring at the stick in her her hands announcing “Pregnant”, she began to laugh through her tears. She wondered if she should write that on the forums as a suggestion: “Adopt and stop trying”. It had certainly worked for them. After double, triple and quadruple checking the result, all of them lighting up with the single word that made her heart soar, she had to remind herself to breath, excitement and elation a heady combination that made her want to scream and call Killian immediately with the news.

But instead, she made herself some camomile tea - something her mother had introduced her to awhile ago to settle nerves - and gradually stopped shaking. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, and she couldn’t wait for that evening. She’d decided that their romantic anniversary picnic was the perfect time to break the happy news. And the next day she’d schedule an appointment to check everything was okay with herself and the baby, before they announced it to the rest of their family.

As she sat at the table, she thought of Elizabeth, her thoughts sobering a little at how their daughter might react. She’d been theirs for three months, and had settled remarkably well, but she remembered their shared history and how the little girl’s first family had tossed her back into the system like an unwanted toy when their own biological child had come along, just as Emma’s first family had done with her.

She couldn’t ever imagine doing that, and she made a mental note that they’d reassure Elizabeth everyday that it wasn’t going to happen, but Emma was well aware how deep those kinds of insecurities ran. And the only thing that would prove their promises to her would be their actions. They loved her just as much as they’d love their baby, and they’d simply have to remind her of that every day. She hoped that the fact she had Henry already would provide some sort of reassurance to her, and that it wouldn’t disrupt Ellie’s progress or how happy she was now, but Emma knew it would take a long time for those insecurities to fade.

Busying herself with wrapping up one of the positive pregnancy tests in the same paper she’d wrapped Killian’s other anniversary gift with, Emma decided to focus on how happy she was. Everything she’d ever dreamed of was coming true. And she couldn’t wait to see Killian’s face when he found out too. She knew the next few hours would drag as she clock-watched, so she headed back to work in an attempt to distract herself.

By the time 5pm rolled around, she was jittery with excitement. She’d already ordered their picnic food from Granny’s - grilled cheese, onion rings, fries, mini slider burgers, and a whole range of taster desserts - which she had to pick up on the way home. The leftovers would likely last them for the next few days too, especially once Killian found out the news and the food was long forgotten.

As she swung by the diner to collect the order, she made sure to school her face into an expression that didn’t scream “I’m deliriously happy, ask me why”. Granny was very perceptive, and she didn’t trust herself not to crack under any level of the older woman’s scrutiny.

Thankfully, despite a pointed comment about her sunny demeanor, and a suspicious side-eye as dropped the paper bags onto the counter, Granny didn’t ask. She simply wished her a happy anniversary with a smirk and a wink over her glasses. Emma had raced home after that, knowing Killian would no doubt be back soon after her and she had to lay out the food and light the candles yet. Thankfully she had magic and no need to worry about explaining it to her daughter.

By the time Killian arrived home, she was already out in the backyard waiting for him, sat on the blanket with the garden looking like something out of a Good Housekeeping photoshoot. She was thankful that the late summer evenings were still warm enough to accommodate her plans. She’d called out to him and he’d appeared at the back door, eyebrow raised and a grin lighting up his face as he took in her handiwork.

“I’m impressed, love. This looks magnificent. As do you.”

He took in her pretty white sundress, eyeing the low neckline with open interest and a lascivious drag of his tongue across his bottom lip. She rolled her eyes, despite her grin and the shiver that prickled under her skin as she imagined what that tongue would be doing to her later.

“Happy anniversary, babe.”

She grinned, patting the space next to her, which he eagerly took. Dropping down to sit beside her, he pulled her in for a heated kiss, and she moaned slightly against his lips. She really did love when he let his passion for her go unchecked, and even after four years of marriage he still kissed her like every time was the first time. She melted into him, before remembering the news she had to share. Pulling back, with a few quick kisses for good measure, she reached behind her for the wrapped gifts.

When he saw them, he seemed to come back to himself and grinned, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a rectangular box she guessed held jewelry of some sort.

“Open yours first, darling.”

He smiled, handing it to her. She took the box from him and smiled, ripping it open inelegantly and gasping at the beautiful necklace inside. It was silver, with a delicate swan constellation encrusted with tiny diamonds. It was stunning, and she immediately moved to put it on.

“Thank you, Killian, it’s so beautiful.”

“I have a swan and a cygnet more beautiful than any jewels, but when I saw this I simply couldn’t resist.”

She kissed him tenderly, fingers caressing his sharp jawline, before pulling back and reaching for his gifts. She handed him the original gift she’d bought him first. A beautiful golden compass engraved from herself and Ellie. His old one had a crack in the glass, and she knew he wouldn’t replace it unless there was a sentimental value to a new one.

After he’d swooned over the detail and engraving of his new toy, she handed him the second, surprise gift, her hands shaking slightly and her heart beating an erratic tempo of anticipation. She’d put it inside a rectangular necklace box similar to the one he’d just given her. As he removed the wrapping paper, he joked about them getting each other the same gift, but had eyed her with curiosity as she’d laughed nervously in response.

“Just open it, Killian.”

She breathed, barely holding back her happy tears. He quickly opened it then, staring in silent shock at the word screaming up at him. When his gaze finally snapped up to meet hers, she saw his eyes were glittering with tears and that immediately caused her own to fall.

“Emma…Gods…Is this real? Are you-…?”

He whispered, and she nodded with a sobbed laugh, tears flowing freely down her cheeks then,

“Yeah…it’s real. We’re having a baby.”

She barely had time to finish her sentence and he was pouncing on her, kissing her with desperation between laughter and tears. The food was long since forgotten as they made love on the blanket in the backyard, underneath the fading light of sunset and the fairy lights.

Afterwards, they bypassed the cold fries and grilled cheese, and opted to share the sweet treats she’d picked out, while they lay together and talked about what they thought their baby would look like. Whose eyes he’d get. And whether or not she’d have a dimple in her chin like Emma. They talked about how they’d tell Ellie, and the rest of their family, and the challenges they might face with that. But regardless, they’d deal with it all together, as they always did.

Killian’s hand rubbed gentle circles against her belly, and he moved to kiss it numerous times as they lay there. She giggled each time, his scruff tickling her, and she was sure she’d never been so blissfully happy.

// CS //

“Good morning, you two. You’re early today…and you’ve both come to pick Ellie up…? Is everything alright?”

Snow was flitting around the kitchen when Emma and Killian arrived the next morning to pick their daughter up. David had greeted them out in the yard as she’d pulled up in the bug, already busy feeding the chickens, and followed them inside.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s good. Great, even.”

Emma had grinned up at her husband, who slipped his arm around her waist as he returned her smile. Snow eyed them suspiciously and exchanged a look with David. They’d talked at length the night before about how they’d break their news to her parents, but despite their plans to hold off until after the first ultrasound, Emma could hardly wait.

“Where’s Ellie?”

She asked with a weak attempt at nonchalance. They wanted to sit down with their daughter and explain things to her properly, not have her overhear the news. Emma knew the little girl would need reassurances, after her previous experience.

“She’s upstairs with Neal. Why? Emma…Killian? What’s going on…?”

Emma moved to close the kitchen door, heart stuttering as she returned to her husband’s side, looking up at him with a tender smile before letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“We…we just wanted to tell you something-”

“Oh my Gosh…”

Snow was rushing forward and enveloping her daughter in a bone-crushing hug before she’d even had chance to reveal their news.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

She wheezed, laughing as she extracted herself from her mother’s grip. David looked baffled, and shot a questioning look at Killian, who simply grinned and scratched behind his ear, marvelling at his mother-in-law’s perceptiveness.

“You’re glowing, Emma. I’ve suspected for weeks, but I didn’t want to say anything because you never brought it up…and I didn’t want to upset you in case I was wrong.”

“Uh…someone wanna tell me what’s going on right now?”

David had his hands on his hips, his confusion evident, and Emma laughed, shaking her head as she slipped her arms around Killian’s waist.

“We’re having a baby, dad. I’m pregnant. Finally.”

David looked floored for a moment, staring at the both of them in shock, before he mirrored his wife’s reaction and surged forward, pulling both Emma and Killian into a somewhat-awkward hug.

“Oh, Emma, that’s wonderful news. Does Ellie know?”

Emma shook her head with a sigh.

“No, not yet. I only found out yesterday and told Killian last night. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind. And we’re not sure how she’s gonna take it…her first family tossed her back into the system when they had a kid of their own. So we want to handle this gently. We’re gonna tell her after we’ve been for a checkup to make sure everything’s okay.”

David and Snow were both nodding in agreement when Ellie burst through the door.

“Hey mom, hey dad! I got to ride one of the horses this morning and help feed the cows. It was so cool!”

She barrelled into Emma, wrapping her little arms around her mother’s waist and hugging her fiercely, before repeating the gesture with her dad. Killian grinned down at her with a chuckle.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Cygnet. But you best be getting your shoes on, otherwise you’ll be late for school.”

Ellie grinned and nodded, disappearing in a flurry of energy and returning with her shoes and backpack.

“Can I have a sleepover with grandma and grandpa again soon?” she pleaded as Killian ruffled her already-messy hair, “We had popcorn and milk duds like mom makes and we watched Inside Out and grandpa made me and Neal a fort with the pillows and blankets in the living room!”

She was still talking a mile a minute about all the fun she’d had as she hugged her grandparents and followed her parents out to the car. Snow and David watched them go from the porch, waving and holding back their own happy tears. Their daughter’s happiness was all they’d ever wanted, and they’d could honestly say they’d never seen her happier.

// CS //

After dropping Ellie off at school, Emma called the hospital and made an appointment for her first prenatal check. It was somewhat surreal. The last time she’d been pregnant, she was barely-17 and had consciously zoned out each time the prison doctor had gone through the regularly scheduled checkups. She’d known she didn’t really have any other option than giving up her baby, and she’d done everything in her power to keep herself from getting attached to the tiny thing growing inside her. She’d figured it’d be easier to hand him over if she distanced herself emotionally from the whole experience. It wasn’t.

But now…well, now she was in completely different place. She was married, with a good job and a town full of family and friends. She was happy. In fact, happy was an understatement. She was incandescently ecstatic, was probably a more accurate description of her emotions. They both were.

Thankfully, she was able to make an appointment for the same day (perks of living in a small town and also being the sheriff and savior), so after lunch they both excitedly headed for the hospital. It was the first time Killian had ever seen an ultrasound that didn’t just show an empty space where they’d hoped a baby would be. He held his breath and fought off tears when a picture of their baby’s profile immediately appeared on the screen as the wand was pressed against his wife’s belly.

“That’s our child…”

He whispered reverently, eyes fixed on the floating, pixelated shape of their baby. He gripped Emma’s hand, brimming with pride and happiness. He could clearly make out the baby’s head and body, in awe of the technology that enabled them to see their little one even before Emma had a bump to show for it.

“You’re about 11 weeks, Emma. You’ve had no symptoms until now?”

Emma gave a start, eyes widening in surprise as she shook her head.

“11 weeks?! Seriously? I-…I’ve not had any sickness or cravings or anything. I know I should’ve been keeping track of my cycle, but since we brought our daughter home, I’ve just not been obsessing over it like I was before. I only realized I was late yesterday, so I went and got some tests and…well, here we are.”

The doctor smiled at her (and she was marginally relieved it wasn’t Whale for once), clicking away at the screen and printing off a handful of copies of the scan for them, giving them to Killian. As the doctor ran through a series of questions and completed a quick physical examination on Emma, Killian stared in wonder at the pictures in his hand. They were really having a baby. There was really a growing child inside of Emma that they’d made together. And his heart felt fit to burst.

// CS //

Elizabeth was quiet when they told her the news. They’d called her down too early for dinner, and she’d known something was amiss. She’d eyed her parents warily and picked up on her mother’s nervous energy as she moved around the kitchen. Emma then disappeared for a moment and returned with a small stuffed swan toy, fiddling with it nervously as she joined Killian at the table and gently asked her to join them too.

“Did I do something bad? Are you mad with me?”

She asked quietly, dread sitting heavy in the little girl’s stomach as a foreboding sense of déjà vu gripped her. Emma recognized the fear in her eyes immediately and shook her head.

“No, Ellie, not at all. I promise it’s nothing bad. It’s…well, it’s good.”

Still not fully convinced, Ellie slipped into her seat and stayed silent. For long moments, Emma seemed to be trying to find the right words, and finally Killian stepped in, reaching for his wife’s hand and smiling warmly at their daughter.

“First of all, we want you to know that we love you very much-”

“You’re sending me away.”

“No! Elizabeth, we are not sending you anywhere. We will never, ever send you away, we promise you that. Your mother and I…well, this is a gift for you…” he gently took the swan toy from Emma and held it out to Ellie, “It’s a gift from you new baby brother or sister.”

“My…brother or sister?” Ellie looked confused for a moment and then her face fell, “You’re having a real baby, aren’t you? Like the other family did.”

Emma finally found her voice, standing quickly and moving to crouch beside Ellie’s chair.

“Ellie. This isn’t gonna be like the last time. I promise you, I promise, we’re not sending you back. This is your home and we’re your mom and dad forever, no matter what. We are having a baby, but it’s not going to change how much we love you,” she wrapped her arms around her daughter as a tear slipped down her cheek and she pressed a kiss into Ellie’s hair, “It just means you’ll have a new sister or brother to love, like you love Neal. And it doesn’t mean we don’t want you anymore, because we’ll always want you, kid. You’re our daughter, and nothing will change that, even if you end up having a whole bunch of brothers and sisters. We love you just as much as we’ll love the baby.”

Killian watched them with a lump in his throat and his heart aching. The two loves of his life had been through so much, and he remembered all too well how long it had taken to convince Emma that he wasn’t going anywhere, and that he truly wanted and loved her, through good and bad. Ellie had similar walls, and her scars were so similar to those on Emma’s soul. It would simply take time for them to prove to Ellie, just as he’d proven to Emma, that their family was real and true and unbreakable.

//CS //

For weeks after they told Ellie of her impending big sister status, she was withdrawn and jumpy. She stopped wanting to go to her dance classes and would get upset over the slightest wrongdoing, breaking down when she accidentally chipped the paintwork on the porch and dropped a glass in the kitchen. Emma recognized the emotions, and knew what Ellie was doing - trying to put up her walls to protect herself, so that when they inevitably (in her eyes) sent her back, it would be easier to handle.

It made Emma ache to the bone to see her daughter closing herself off again. And as happy as she was to be pregnant, and to see her belly starting to grow with the smallest, most perfect little bump, it was still painful knowing her other child was struggling to adjust to it all. She tried her best to reassure her daughter with actions, knowing words didn’t work for a kid who’d been let down with lies and broken promises so many times before.

She pulled Ellie into hugs everytime she got upset, even over what seemed like the smallest, most insignificant things. She made sure to reiterate every night as she tucked her in that she wasn’t going anywhere, that they loved her and would never send her away. She encouraged her to stay involved with the things she’d enjoyed before, and made sure to spend as much time with her as she could.

Even Henry helped. At 18, he’d recently moved away to attend Boston University, and his family missed him like crazy. But he made sure to visit as often as possible, and when Emma told him about the baby on his latest visit, he was thrilled for his mom and step-dad. He’d asked how Ellie was taking it, and Emma had smiled sadly, shaking her head. He’d asked if he could have a chat with her, knowing that maybe as an adopted kid himself, he could offer her some reassurance.

It seemed to have helped a little. As the weeks went by, Ellie’s emotions seemed to stabilize. They’d gone to Archie for advice, and he’d been more than happy to see the little girl. They made progress, and he guided Emma and Killian as well as Ellie, with how to navigate their new circumstances.

As Ellie settled back into her routines and started to come out of her shell once again, Emma found herself able to start enjoying her pregnancy with a little less guilt. Killian was as doting as ever, holding daily one-sided conversations with the bump and thoroughly enjoying what pregnancy was doing to the rest of Emma’s body - namely her chest. She was thankful that the whole thing seemed to be going quite smoothly, aside from the fact that the baby had a tendency to tap-dance on her ribs and make itself comfortable directly over her bladder.

She hadn’t had any particularly strange cravings, other than the odd occasion when she’d woken in the night with a killer need for ice cream and potato chips. Killian had dutifully acquiesced to her strange requests, but they’d been few and far between. He was overly protective when they were at work, however, and insisted she didn’t do too much. It had driven her crazy at the start, but she’d eventually come to accept and even somewhat enjoy his attentiveness. Even when she felt like all control she’d had over her body had disappeared with her waistline, and had all but given up trying to feel remotely sexy, he still managed to make her feel like the most desirable woman in the world. Not an easy feat when her ankles were swollen and she was running for the bathroom every ten minutes.

At their 18 week check, they’d decided not to find out the sex, and neither really had a preference either way. As far as they were concerned, they had a son and a daughter already, and after trying for so long with no success, they’d be thrilled no matter what they’d made.

Emma was almost 24 weeks when Ellie first started to take an interest in the baby as anything other than the thing that was going to cause her parents to love her less, or simply not want her anymore. She’d been slowly coming around as the weeks had turned to months, with help from Archie and constant reassurances from Emma and Killian. But the real breakthrough came one Sunday afternoon when Killian had popped to the store to grab a few things, and Emma was resting, her back protesting the gardening she’d attempted to do with Ellie that morning.

“Mommy?”

She said quietly, opening the door with a somewhat nervous smile. Emma had ushered her in, holding her arms open as an invitation for her daughter to join her. Ellie climbed onto the bed, shyly holding out the drawing she’d made, and tears immediately filled Emma’s eyes when she saw what her eight year old had drawn.

“That’s you, and that’s daddy. And that’s me, and Henry. And there’s a puppy because I really like puppies. And…and that’s the baby. It’s a girl, because I kinda want a sister seeing as how I’ve already got a brother. We’ve got matching bows in our hair and she’s gonna have blonde hair like me and you. It’s our family. I’m holding the baby there, see? Can I…hold the baby when it gets here?”

Tears were slipping down Emma’s cheeks as she sniffled and smiled at her daughter, heart soaring at the turning point they’d finally seemed to reach. Ellie looked alarmed for a second and then reached over to wipe her mother’s tears.

“Are you happy crying again?”

She asked, and Emma nodded with a quiet sob, pulling her daughter close and crying softly into her hair.

“Of course you can hold the baby, Ellie. You can hold her all the time. She’s so lucky she’s got an amazing big sister like you, and-…here, give me your hand,” she pressed the little girl’s hand over her large bump, the kicks strong and sure under her small palm, “She already loves you so much. Can you feel that? She’s kicking to say hi. She knows your voice already.”

Ellie stared at the rippling bump in awe, feeling the insistent kicks and giggling. Emma only wished Killian had been there to witness the moment, but when she told him about it that night after they’d both tucked their daughter into bed, he’d cried just as much as she had.

//CS //

Emma went into labor a week before her due date. Killian had been preparing for the event for the better part of a month, and yet he still went into panic mode when Emma walked into the kitchen rubbing her belly and casually informed him that her water had broken. He stared at her blankly, unsure he’d heard her correctly. She didn’t seem in the least bit hurried, tying her hair up into a messy bun and rummaging through the refrigerator for the bottle of coconut water she was sure she’d left in there earlier.

“Emma, did you just say what I think you-”

“Ugh, shit, I’m like, leaking everywhere. Gross.”

“Emma…”

“Did you move my coconut water?”

“Emma! Are you…is this…is the baby coming?!”

He was on his feet, eyes wide and heart racing, as he stared at his unnervingly calm wife with her head still in the refrigerator..

“Ah, there it is.”

She said with a triumphant smile, grabbing the coconut water from where it had apparently been hiding behind the milk, and holding it up as though Killian gave a damn about bloody coconut water in that moment. She noticed his panicked expression and smiled serenely.

“Yeah, unless I’m just spontaneously peeing myself,” she grimaced, “And for the record, I’m not.”

“Bloody hell! Where’s the bag?! The hospital bag we packed, where is it?! Do you wish for me to carry you, love? Can you walk? Are you in pain? I should call your parents and tell them! We need to get to the hospital!”

Emma chuckled and shook her head, taking a swig of her drink as her husband rambled on.

“Killian, chill. Firstly, the bag is by the front door, where you insisted we had to keep it since the start of the month. Second, I’m perfectly capable of walking, so please don’t attempt to carry my elephant-sized ass to the car bridal-style because I’ll be forced to punch you. I’m in a bit of pain but I’ve had period cramps way worse at this point. And lastly, yes, we can go to the hospital now, but I’ll call my parents in the car and they can pick Ellie up from school on their way. Take a breath. We’re fine.”

Killian gawped at her, dumbfounded by her level of calm when he felt like throwing up with the sudden onslaught of panic he’d been hit with. She cupped his face, anchoring him with a reassuring smile and a tender kiss. When she pulled back, she grinned and canted her head toward the door..

“Let’s go have a baby.”

// CS //

Her labor was intense but mercifully quick. By the time they arrived at the hospital, she was already seven centimeters dilated, and feeling great considering. The calm and organized team of nurses and doctors put Killian at ease, though he was still somewhat of a jittery mess, excitement and nervousness buzzing under his skin and making him restless. He barely let go of Emma’s hand, sitting rooted by her side and staring intently at the monitors she’d been hooked up to for any minute changes.

David and Snow arrived with Ellie shortly after they did, and sat anxiously in the waiting room, keeping their eyes glued to the delivery room door. Emma made Killian periodically go out to them with updates, despite his unwillingness to leave her side for even a moment.

As her contractions grew closer together and the pain intensified, her previously calm demeanour cracked and she eagerly accepted the pain meds offered to her. Finally, they told her she could push, and she took a deep breath before following their orders. Killian hated seeing her in so much pain, and attempted to talk her through the worst of it between her screams.

“Shut the fuck up, Killian, with your stupid accent and your - FUCK - stupid handsome face and your stupid - JESUS FUCKING CHRIST - cock that did this to me!”

The doctor and nurse were attempting to hold back their amusement and at first he was flustered as she yelled at him through the pain, but he held tight to her hand and continued to soothe her regardless.

By the time the doctor said, “one more push, the head’s almost out!” Emma was shaking and whimpering with exhaustion. It had only been an hour since they’d first arrived at the hospital, but it had felt like an eternity. As she put everything she had into that final push, Killian held his breath…

A piercing cry filled the air and Killian immediately felt the tears spring to his eyes as he watched the doctor lift a perfect, squirming, red-faced baby up to the the nurse beside him, who immediately did a quick weight and measurement before moving back toward Emma and Killian.

“Congratulations, you have a perfect little girl. She’s beautiful. Well done, Emma, you did so well.”

She placed the baby on her mother’s chest, wrapped in a hospital blanket, and her tiny hands flailed around as she wailed indignantly. Killian instinctively offered her his pinky finger, and the moment she grasped hold of it, she calmed, her wails becoming soft cooing sounds. The tears slipped from his eyes then, and he gazed at his wife and newborn daughter with so much pride and love that he had no idea how to put it into words.

“You are both so perfect. My beautiful girls,” he whispered, voice cracking, “We have another daughter, my love. You brought our daughter into the world. You’re incredible.”

Emma smiled up at him through her own tears, overwhelmed by emotion and the awe on her husband’s face. As their new bundle of joy promptly fell asleep to the calming motion of her mother’s breathing, Killian whispered his love and adoration to them both, basking in the afterglow of the moments they’d waited so long for.

A little under an hour later, once the doctor had examined both Emma and the baby, and left them alone to bond with the new addition, there was a soft knock on the door. Snow and David stood in the doorway with beaming smiles, and Ellie ran over to her father, tentative gaze locked on the baby in her mother’s arms. Killian immediately hoisted her up onto the bed, warning her softly to be extra gentle.

Emma shifted to allow room for her older daughter and smiled tiredly.

“Do you want to hold your little sister, Ellie?”

She asked, her voice hoarse with exhaustion, and the little girl nodded eagerly, holding out her arms and gasping on a giggle as Emma and Killian both helped to position the baby tenderly in her hold.

“She’s so tiny,” Ellie whispered, staying perfectly still and staring down at the tiny infant, before a huge grin broke onto her face, “I’m gonna love her forever and ever. I’ll be her best friend and play with her all the time. She can share all my toys too. I’m so happy I have a sister now! Can we call her Eva?”

“Eva…I like that.”

Emma smiled, her heart aching with love, as she looked to her husband for his opinion. He nodded thoughtfully, ruffling Ellie’s hair and smiling adoring at his three girls.

“Aye. Eva is a wonderful name, Cygnet.”

Emma leaned back against the pillows, one arm around Ellie and the other supporting their new baby daughter in her arms, as she smiled up at Killian.

“You’ve got three women in the house now. You really are outnumbered, buddy.”

Killian leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss into Emma’s sweaty hair.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, my darling.”

Fin.

#cs ff #cs prompt #cs fluff #cs angst #cs baby #cs fanfic #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs family

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mindfulwrath · 8 years ago

Text

Silver, Part VIII

Lanyon and Utterson pick a plan, and Rachel plans a picnic.

Words: 4,522 Warnings: None

Part I Part VII

"Gabriel, I swear, you are going to be the death of me," Lanyon said, rubbing his eyebrow. Light was pouring into the conservatory, the first real sunlight they'd had in days. Two glasses of cabernet sauvignon sat on the table. Utterson had so far resisted drinking any of his, which drove home how serious he found the whole situation.

"It's gone on long enough," Utterson said. "Something must be done."

"What can be done? If Mr. Hyde eludes us and Jekyll refuses to listen to us, what else is there?"

"I don't know," said Utterson. "But something must be done."

"Yes yes, I agree with you, clearly it's all highly irregular and unpleasant—"

"He's written a will, Robert."

Lanyon pulled up short.

"He's done what?"

"He's written a will," Utterson repeated. "Didn't I tell you? He gave it to me yesterday. It's a troubling document, although I'm legally forbidden to tell you why."

"If I were to assume its troublesomeness had to do with a certain Mr. Hyde?"

"Legally I would be forbidden to tell you if you were right."

"Ah," said Lanyon. He had a sip of his wine and stared out the window. "Did he mention why he'd written this will?"

"As a precaution, he said."

"You don't believe him?"

"I don't know that I do. I'm certain he was being dishonest on some point, but I don't know what it was."

Lanyon shook his head. "Yes, welcome to my past year," he sighed. "He's been keeping something back ever since that Hyde fellow turned up. It all hinges on him, and it's got no right to."

"Something must be done," Utterson said for the third time.

"But what, Gabriel? What is there left to do?"

Utterson was quiet for a while, wiggling his mustache.

"Hyde must be findable, somewhere," he concluded at last. "We must simply be more persistent. If he be Mr. Hyde, we shall be—"

"Gabriel, please, have mercy," Lanyon said, putting a hand over his eyes. Utterson grumbled, stymied.

"We know he calls at the Society frequently," he said instead. "We could wait there for him. Perhaps he visits Jekyll at home—we could inquire with Poole."

Lanyon shuddered. "Don't make me think of that horrid creature hanging about in Henry's home," he said, his lip curling. "I shall be ill."

"Then I will ask Poole, and if the answer is yes, I won't tell you," said Utterson. "Something is profoundly wrong, Robert. It has fallen to us to put it right. If we fail, we may lose Henry completely."

"Lose him to what?" Lanyon said, frowning.

Utterson shrugged. "I wouldn't like to speculate."

Letting out a long sigh, Lanyon shook his head. "Neither would I, if I'm honest. All right—what shall we do with Mr. Hyde once we find him? I have admittedly enlisted the help of the Society's cook to help net him."

"Oh?" said Utterson.

"Yes," said Lanyon. "I don't know that she'll come up with anything, but I asked her to send him my way if she couldn't convince him to leave Jekyll alone. Which I somehow doubt she will be able to do."

"Hm," said Utterson.

There was a moment of quiet. Utterson frowned, and Lanyon sipped his cabernet, and a cloud drifted over the sun.

"Robert," Utterson said. "I have had an idea."

"You don't sound terribly pleased about it."

"I'm not," said Utterson. "Would you like to hear it anyway?"

"Yes, I think so."

"My idea is this: we report Hyde as the cause of the fire regardless of Jekyll's wishes."

Lanyon stared at him.

"My dearest Gabriel, and I mean this in the kindest possible way, but have you lost your mind?" he said.

"It was only an idea," said Utterson.

"Henry would never forgive us."

"Perhaps not," said Utterson. "But Hyde would be forced to leave him be, whether from behind bars or on the lam."

"Quite frankly, it's worse than your first idea," Lanyon said. "I was rather looking forward to having Hyde roughed up a bit, and there's no guarantee Jekyll would ever put together the fact that we hired the—the rougher-uppers. He'd know we were behind it instantly if Hyde were to be arrested."

"Which do you find more distasteful," Utterson said. "Having an innocent man arrested, or having him beaten in the streets?"

"He's hardly innocent."

"And yet you must still have a preference."

Lanyon chewed on it for some time, swishing it between his cheeks.

"I suppose having the police out for him would be more effective," said Lanyon. "Although doubtless the man has other enemies than us who could reliably be blamed for an—incident."

"Very well," said Utterson. "Since your moral compass requires recalibrating, I'll do the decent thing and admit I was wrong. I made my initial suggestion under the influence of a not inconsiderable amount of Claret. It was a foolish suggestion, and cruel. If Hyde is imprisoned, his name can eventually be cleared. I will take the case on myself, if need be. He cannot be un-beaten, Robert."

Lanyon flushed. He squirmed in his seat, suddenly quite taken with the view out the windows.

"But Henry—"

"Is Henry's regard more important to you than his wellbeing?" Utterson interrupted.

Lanyon shut his mouth. Utterson had never, in their ten year acquaintance, been so frankly and clearly annoyed with him.

"You're right," Lanyon mumbled. "You're right, of course." He rubbed his face. The wine was sitting uneasy in his stomach. He set his glass aside and rested his head on his hand.

"I know that it's difficult," Utterson said. "He's my friend, too. But he may come to understand, in time. And even if he doesn't—"

He made a restrained, helpless gesture. Lanyon understood what he meant.

"Even if he doesn't," he agreed.

A silence fell. Lanyon laughed to himself, although not particularly with amusement.

"I should have listened to you, Gabriel," he said. "We really ought not to have meddled."

"Perhaps not," said Utterson. "But now that we have, we must see it through."

"You're convinced, then?"

"Committed."

"Perhaps we all ought to be committed," Lanyon muttered. "Whatever happened to your inclining to Cain's heresy?"

"That," Utterson said, "was before I had seen the Devil."

"I would hardly call Mr. Hyde a devil."

"I wasn't talking about Hyde," said Utterson.

Rachel knocked on Jekyll's door and smoothed out her skirts. She wasn't sure what sort of reception she would receive—there was no telling if Lanyon had spoken with him yet, and even if he had, whether Jekyll had taken the recommendations to heart. She might find herself summarily thrown out. She wanted to believe that was out of character for Jekyll, but he'd been acting so strangely of late that she wasn't sure what his character actually was anymore.

"Come in!" he called. Rachel slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

The lab was slightly neater than usual, as though it had undergone a recent clean-up. It was still messy, but in a way that indicated some sort of personally comprehensible order. Jekyll was at his desk, laying aside a pen and paper.

"Dr. Jekyll," Rachel said, by way of greeting.

"Miss Pidgley," he said, matching her stiff formality note for note. "What can I do for you?"

"Er, well," she said. She kicked herself in the ankle. She was supposed to be assertive about this. "I know I said I quit, but . . . I'd like to un-quit, if possible."

"Oh," said Jekyll, looking pleasantly surprised. "Yes, of course. To be honest, I was rather hoping you would."

"Well," said Rachel. "Great."

Jekyll made a face. His shoulders slumped, and he fiddled with his pen.

"I . . . I'm sorry, Rachel," he said. "I'm sorry about . . . Jasper. It was unfair of me and it won't happen again. I know how you feel about him, and—"

"It's not about him," she said. Jekyll looked up at her, perplexed. She went on, consequences be damned. "It's about you. It's about the fact that I asked you to help me, and you said you would, and then the first chance you got, you went behind my back."

"That's not . . . precisely how it happened," Jekyll said, sounding strained. "It wasn't an intentional slight against you, Rachel."

"No, I know," she said. "It was just that you completely forgot about promising to help me. It was just that I mattered so little to you that you didn't even think about it."

"Rachel—"

"It's not about Jasper," she said again. "It's about the fact that somebody I thought was my friend clearly wasn't. I don't know why I'm surprised. As if somebody like you would ever be friends with somebody like me."

"Don't make this a class thing, Rachel, it's not a class thing," Jekyll pleaded.

"Then what sort of a thing is it?"

"It's a Henry Jekyll is an idiot sort of thing," he said. "I am deeply sorry that I hurt you. I truly am. I understand if you would like to keep our future interactions as minimal and professional as possible, I couldn't possibly blame you for that. But please, please understand that I don't think any less of you because of your station. I'm just—an idiot, Rachel. I'm just an idiot."

"Not arguing with you there," she said nastily.

Jekyll sighed and rubbed his eyebrow with two fingers. She saw the quick, perhaps involuntary flick of his eyes to the bottle of wine on his desk. She was briefly tempted to pick it up and take it out with her, for reasons she preferred not to articulate.

"Was there anything else?" he asked.

"Not really."

"All right. For financial purposes, we'll behave as though your employment was uninterrupted. You were due for some time off anyway."

"That's very kind of you," she said diplomatically.

"And I would appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone," he said. "Please. I know how gossip spreads in this place, but I can't afford this getting out. Not just for my sake, but for Jasper's."

Rachel lifted her chin and braced herself.

"Then I'd appreciate it if you could tell Mr. Hyde I'd like to speak with him."

A series of expressions flicked across Jekyll's face like pages of a book flipping under someone's thumb—surprise, respect, annoyance, resignation—and he inclined his head and folded his hands.

"What should I say it's about?" he asked.

"That's not your business," said Rachel, although her voice shook and her knees were going to give out any second.

Jekyll raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth turning up.

"All right," he said. "I'll tell him you're looking for him."

"Good!" said Rachel. "And I won't tell anyone you've been snogging boys half your age."

He let out a long, tired sigh.

"Thank you," he said, his voice hollow with pain.

"You're disgusting," she told him, irritated by his refusal to be anything but decent to her.

"Well, at least we agree on one thing," he said. He turned his gaze back to his paperwork. "Good morning, Miss Pidgley."

Rachel left without a further word. He didn't deserve the courtesy.

How dare he make her feel sorry for him.

Most of the day passed in a blur of activity as everyone scrambled to get things together for the exhibition. Several people were now of the opinion that Frankenstein and the monster had left London altogether and were writing them off as a loss. Others were whispering that Moreau's body had never been found after the fire. Luckett and Sinett were in a huff about that one, because Moreau's body had been found, it had just been very very crispy (as had his flamethrower, which is what they were actually upset about). The lodgers who had been taken in by the police were back at work like nothing had ever happened, although the tales of their time in prison were rapidly inflating. Mr. Hyde, too, had apparently had some sort of run-in that had left him screaming bloody murder at five o'clock in the morning. According to Virginia, there had been a truly disturbing amount of blood, and it was only thanks to Jasper that he wasn't dead.

She didn't see Jasper around anywhere. She would have liked to know that he was all right, too.

From needling a few of the other lodgers, she discovered that he was mainly staying in his flat, tending to his creatures—or so they supposed. Evidently he had been singularly uncommunicative last night. Rachel tried not to worry about it, but in the end decided it was better to look foolish than to risk letting Jasper suffer in silence. One of the benefits of being day manager was that, should any of the lodgers have current or former non-Society addresses, she was privy to them. Under normal circumstances, she would never have visited a lodger at home, as it was a serious breach of privacy, but these were not normal circumstances and she was not taking any chances. She packed up a large picnic basket full of food, shrugged on a heavy coat, and went to visit him.

Even if Rachel hadn't known Jasper's flat number, it would have been impossible to miss. The noise was the first giveaway, shortly followed by the smell. When she knocked, there was an explosion of hooting and screeching and yapping that could only have been exceeded by a zoo on fire.

Jasper answered the door already looking apologetic. When he saw Rachel, he blushed bright red and gulped.

"Oh," he said. "Er. Hello."

"Hi," she said. "Um."

They stared at each other for a moment. Rachel lifted up the picnic basket.

"Brought you lunch," she said.

"You're very—" he said, and gestured. "Red."

Rachel looked down at herself. The coat was, indeed, very red, and here she was with a picnic basket, and there he was being a werewolf—

"That wasn't intentional!" she blurted, boiling hot. "I wasn't—I really wasn't—"

He smiled at her. "We can go someplace less noisy," he offered.

"That sounds good," she said, flooded with relief.

"You can actually get to the roof from my window—here, I'll take that—"

Jasper gingerly took the basket from her arm, then ducked back into his room. Rachel followed, biting her lips. The animal smell was overpowering inside, the clutter immense. There was a little stove that had been extensively and shoddily modified into some sort of makeshift chemistry set. There were bags of seed and boxes and crates, newspapers strewn all over the floor. Two dozen different cages rattled and clanked as Jasper moved to the window. Rachel noted that half of his bed was currently occupied by a mournful-looking serpopard, its long neck curled over its own back. Jasper stepped up on the bed to open the window.

"'Scuse me, Mina," he said, mincing around the serpopard. He shoved the window open and climbed out. He scrambled upward and out of sight with impressive dexterity for a man carrying a picnic basket.

Rachel picked her way over. The serpopard blinked up at her with huge, soulful eyes and licked its chops. The tufted tip of its tail twitched hopefully.

"Er, hi," said Rachel. She picked her way around the creature and stuck her torso out the window. There was a sturdy drainpipe right next to the window, leading upward. Jasper was peeking out over the ledge of the roof. Rachel glanced down.

The fall was truly precipitous.

"It's really not difficult," Jasper called down to her. "The pipe's very sturdy."

"Uh-huh?" said Rachel, who was not wording very well.

"You won't fall," Jasper said.

"Uh-huh," said Rachel. She tore her eyes off the ground and mustered her courage. She planted one foot on the windowsill and reached out for the drainpipe. It was farther away than she would have liked—Jasper, in all his lanking glory, probably had no difficulty with the distance.

Rachel was forced to make a leap of faith.

It was more like a lurch, and based more in spite than in faith, but she did make it to the drainpipe without having to ask for help, which was the only thing that mattered. She clambered up, her skirts hitched up around her hips so that she wouldn't step on them and go plummeting to her death.

Jasper offered his hand to her when she got close, and Rachel's confidence was shaken enough that she accepted it. He helped pull her up the last few feet and over the ledge, and soon she was standing next to him, her hand in his, a little sweaty and a little breathless and very alone.

"Well that was easy," she said, like an idiot.

"Yeah," he said. "I mean."

They both looked anywhere but each other. Rachel cleared her throat. Jasper rubbed the back of his neck. He took a deep breath like he was about to say something difficult.

Instead, he kissed her hand.

Rachel went so hot she must have glowed. She ducked her head and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiled so wide it made her cheeks hurt.

"Oh," she said, her voice high-pitched and thin. "Thank you."

"I'm—welcome," said Jasper. "Wait—no, that—"

Rachel burst out laughing. He joined in, obviously still embarrassed. She tugged on his hand and stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

"You are welcome," she said.

He grinned, a great big goofy grin that was prettier than all the stars in heaven. Rachel found herself grinning right back.

"So um," he said. "Food? And stuff?"

"Food and stuff," she said.

After some awkward shuffling, they both sat down. Jasper flipped open the picnic basket and was immediately absorbed, rifling through its contents.

"So, um," Rachel said, hands clasped in her lap, eyes cast skyward. "What's your like, field? In science. I know you've got the whole wolf thing but that's not really an occupation."

"Oh!" said Jasper. He had found the roast beef sandwich and was busily unwrapping it. "I'm a crypto-biologist. That's what all the creatures are about."

"So like, what Miss Lavender and Mrs. Cantilupe do?"

"Ssssssort of," Jasper said. "They're more into the whole organism, I'm into the . . . the mechanism. Sort of a thing. Like why are some animals more, er, cryptish than others? What is it makes them different? On a sort of, very small level."

"Oooooh," said Rachel. "This might be a stupid question, but is that why you got bit?"

"Yeah," said Jasper, sheepish. He took a huge bite out of the sandwich and continued talking out the side of his mouth. "No' like, on purpofe, juft, acfidentally. Whilst doing ovver ftuff."

"Right, no, yeah, of course," said Rachel, rolling her eyes and laughing like that hadn't been what she was thinking.

"Bu' anyway, it'f pretty well acfepted that like—" he swallowed and wiped his mouth on his hand— "it's got something to do with bacteria, probably. You know germ theory?"

"I live with a load of scientists, of course I know germ theory," Rachel said, bristling.

"Right, sorry, sorry, that was—yeah, sorry," he said, blushing. "Well. It's got something to do with that. I was going to try and make my own microscope but . . . never could get the lenses right."

"Oof, that's rough," said Rachel.

Jasper had dove back into his sandwich, and there was a bit of a lull. Rachel went for a rifle through the basket and got out the swing top bottle of tea which, despite its swaddling, had gone lukewarm. She was starting to wish she'd brought something a little stronger.

"What about you?" Jasper asked.

"What—what about me?" Rachel said, thrown.

He gestured. "I mean, I know you're like, the day manager and cook and butcher and everything, but—what d'you like, do? Not—sorry, that sounded really bad, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like—but like what d'you—what're your . . . dreams and aspirations and stuff."

He finished at a mumble. Rachel nudged him with an elbow.

"I dunno," she admitted. "I used to want to do sciencey stuff, but then I found out I didn't much like it. I like the people, and everything, don't get me wrong, but it just . . . wasn't for me. I thought for a bit I might want to do like, library work or something, but that wasn't right either. I've sort of been bouncing round for a while, and I happened to land at the Society, and—I dunno. It's not glamorous or anything, but the people are good and the pay's good and I've got enough time off to do stuff I like doing."

"What d'you like doing?" Jasper asked.

"Well," said Rachel, flattered by the sincerity of his interest. "I—do loads of stuff. Like . . . read. I like to read."

"What sorts of things d'you read?"

"Oh, everything," she said, dismissive. "I . . . actually write a bit, too."

"Really?" said Jasper, as though this was an impressive and esoteric talent. "What sorts of things d'you write?"

"Er, well . . . ever read Poe's Auguste Dupin stories?"

"No," said Jasper. "What're they about?"

"They're like, about this detective, only he's only detecting for fun, he's not a policeman or anything," said Rachel. "He's very rich and very bored and very brilliant. I sort of fell in love with them when I was a kid. At first I wanted to be a detective, but—I dunno, it didn't work out for loads of reasons. So I just started writing my own stories, instead. Mine . . . mine are about this woman, she's named Halima, she runs a private detective business in London and solves all sorts of crimes and stuff. Like, by herself. It started out just normal stuff like murders but then once I started working at the Society I thought it—it might be neat to have her solve, like, science crimes. Like with monsters and things."

"That sounds amazing!" Jasper said. "D'you think I could read them, at some point?"

"I, pffff, well, I dunno," said Rachel, thinking with considerable discomfort of the story where Halima had valiantly slain a serial-killing werewolf from the sewers. "They're not any good."

"I've barely read anything except textbooks my whole life," Jasper said earnestly. "I wouldn't know the difference between good stories and bad stories. I'm sure I'd really like them no matter what."

In that instant, Rachel fell more in love with him than she'd ever been with anyone before in her life. She turned her face away and punched him in the arm.

"You're only saying that," she said.

"I'm not," he said.

Rachel couldn't find anything to say, so instead she just leaned over and bumped him with her shoulder, then handed him the tea. He bumped her in turn, then accepted the tea, took a long drink of it, and handed it back. Rachel had a sip, too, and definitely not because his lips had just been on the bottle, where hers were now, and it was almost like a kiss. . . .

"I um, I heard you were a bit of a hero last night," she said, before she could get to thinking too much.

"Oh," said Jasper. "Yeah. I guess."

"They said you saved Hyde's life," said Rachel.

"I—I guess," said Jasper. He was all hunched in on himself, like he was embarrassed. She wrinkled her nose at him.

"Don't get all humble about it," she said. "Hyde's inevitably going to twist it to where he's the hero of the whole thing and you were barely involved. That's what he does."

"I really didn't do much, honestly," Jasper said. "Honestly I was going home because the moon was up but . . . there were six of them and—"

"Six of them?" Rachel cried.

"Yeah, and they had like, knives and crossbows, but he didn't have anything so far as I knew, so—"

"You fought six people?"

"No, I didn't fight anybody, I just sort of . . . stood there looking scary, I s'pose," he said.

"While they pointed knives and crossbows at you."

"It's not like they were silver or anything. Werewolves are awfully hard to kill, it's one of the benefits."

"Ugh, you're ridiculous," said Rachel. She took his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder. "You're like a proper hero, and you're sitting up here all it was nothing."

"I honestly didn't do much," said Jasper.

"Obviously it was enough," said Rachel. "And it's more than nearly anybody would do for Hyde. Lucky you were there, honestly."

"Y-yeah," said Jasper. "Lucky."

Rachel took her head off his arm and frowned at him.

"Why d'you say it like that?" she said.

"I—it's maybe not completely luck," said Jasper, squirming.

"How so?"

"I—I sort of. . . ."

"Sort of what?"

"Sort of . . . ran into him at the Blackfog Bazaar," said Jasper, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at his own knees. "And I might've . . . tagged along with him for a bit. Until he got chased out. By the Forty Elephants. At which point I sort of chased them. Because—yeah."

"Aww," said Rachel. "Honestly I don't blame you. From what I've heard, Blackfog's a madhouse. I'd've latched onto a familiar face, too."

"Mm-hm," said Jasper. He went back in the picnic basket and came up with an apple. Rachel watched him out of the corner of her eye.

"So the Forty Elephants, huh?" Rachel said.

"Yeah," said Jasper. "Only there weren't forty of them. Just six, from what I saw."

"And they went after Hyde?"

"Yep."

"How come?"

"Dunno. He went off to flirt with one of them and then they started chasing him."

"Hah! Serves him right," said Rachel.

"One of them shot him, Rachel," Jasper said, put upon.

"Wait, seriously? With—"

"A crossbow. There was blood all over the place. I can't half still smell it," he said, rubbing his nose with his thumb.

Rachel reconsidered her approach.

"That must've been pretty terrifying," she said.

"I thought I was going to die," Jasper said earnestly. "I saw him start running and they all started chasing him and I wasn't nearly as fast, and then when I got up on the roofs the moon was up and I—sort of lost track of some stuff, my head gets funny when I turn sometimes, but then they were running and . . . I dunno. You've got to chase things that run from you. Next thing I knew it was all crossbows and knives."

She hesitated, then linked her arm with his and kissed his cheek again.

"I'm glad you didn't die," she said.

He looked over at her, great big orange eyes and that soft puppy smile.

"Me too," he said.

#tgs #the glass scientists #fanfic #silver #p.s. look up serpopards they're ridiculous

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