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@gloriousfemaleworrier I think you are genuinely the sweetest thing, and I never have the words to thank you enough for your kindness. Your tags on your reblog??? Oh my God. That's the most flattering thing in the world, and the little real book author in my heart feels very flattered right now ❤️❤️❤️

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

a/n: Um...hello? It's been a minute, but I've been slowly making my way through all the books on my shelf and thought to myself, "I need to write again." So here I am, dusting off the shelf. Literally and figuratively.

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

Emma hums a noncommittal answer as she rolls the sleeves of the flannel up. It’s too big on her, will likely fall off her shoulders all day, but it’s long enough to wear with leggings, and honestly, the thought of wearing real pants today is her worst nightmare. Anything without elastic or spandex in it is a hard no for her.

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Emma still doesn’t say anything. She rolls her eyes and looks into Killian’s dresser. He’s got at least ten identical button-downs and plaid shirts in there. He’ll be fine. She finishes rolling the sleeves up to her forearms and then moves to closing the buttons. She’s halfway finished when a hand comes over hers.

“Emma,” he whispers into her neck, his warm breath somehow causing a chill to travel down every damn inch of her spine, which, when she thinks about it, doesn’t logically make sense, “what do you think you’re doing?”

She leans back into him, letting her body press into the planes of his. It’s an indulgence she doesn’t get as often as she’d like, the act of simply standing with him like this, and she really has to find opportunities like this more often.

Opportunities to be happy doing nothing.

“I’m getting dressed. I have places to be, things to do.”

“People to meet?”

“So you know how the saying goes?”

“Aye, love, I do.” His hand moves hers away from her stomach, and his fingers undo the work she just did on the flannel. “I also know neither of us have to be anywhere until tonight.” His hand trails down her bare stomach as his lips brush against the shell of her ear, and God, the man knows how to work her. “So why don’t you take this off and get back in bed with me?”

“In bed with you?” Emma questions. “Whatever would I do in bed with you?”

“Sleep.”

Emma laughs and leans back into him, craning her neck to grant him more access. “This doesn’t feel like you want to go back to sleep.”

“Well, I think I might need to tire myself out first.”

“What do you have in mind?”

It’s Killian’s turn to laugh, and the vibrations of it against her skin nearly drive her mad.

This is good, these moments. They don’t get too many of them, and Emma doesn’t know why she bothered to even get out of bed.

Oh wait. She does. She needed coffee.

“Coffee,” Emma says as she turns and nuzzles her nose into the ink just below his collarbone. “I wanted coffee. That’s why I got out of bed.”

“What if I promise to make you coffee in an hour?”

“An hour is pushing it. By a lot.”

Killian laughs. “I was factoring in time to shower. And to get dressed. And maybe watch some television.”

“What if,” Emma says, kissing Killian’s chest as she laughs, “you take me out to get coffee instead? I’ll give you your hour if you do.”

“It’s a deal, Swan.”

-/-

It’s more like twenty minutes, even with the lazy way they go about it, but it does take them the next forty minutes to shower, dry their hair, and get dressed. It’s cold outside, Boston in autumn in full effect, and Emma puts on at least three layers. She’s cold-natured, though, and the chill in the air still nips at her nose. When she complains about the cold, Killian pulls her beanie down her head, the knit material blocking her vision for a moment, and she elbows his side when he starts laughing.

Asshole.

But he’s her obnoxious ass today, and she isn’t going to complain.

Okay, she is, but she’ll keep it to a minimum.

They go to their favorite diner, a hole in the wall place that serves the best breakfast in town, and Emma eats too much. But it’s good and she feels good, so it doesn’t matter that she eats too much or that she’ll have to go for a run tomorrow morning before work.

None of that matters. Not when everything, right at this moment, is as close to perfect as she ever allows it to be.

She’s learning to allow herself to be happy. She’s got to keep remembering that.

“Killian.”

He looks up from his side of the booth and flashes her the smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle. She always loves when that happens.

“Yes, love?”

“I just,” she begins, but all the courage she had been building begins to dissipate, “I…”

“Well, look who the cat dragged into town.” Both Emma and Killian turn to the side and see Will Scarlet, a somewhat shared friend, standing over their table. Perfect timing, as always, Scarlet. “How long are you around for this time, mate?”

Killian shrugs and shifts his foot against Emma’s under the table. “My flight back is tonight.”

“You stationed back in the states now or do they have you in Europe?”

“I’m in Italy for six months, but then I’ll be back for awhile.”

“Damn, Italy. That seems nice. Why don’t you give me a call when you’re back? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Yeah, mate,” Killian sighs, nodding to Will while his boot stays connected under her ankle, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Sweet. See you around, Jones. Nice to see you too, Emma.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, “nice to see you too.”

Only a little bit of that was a lie.

Will walks away from them and to his table across the diner. He sits down next to a pretty brunette, and as much as he annoys her when she runs into him, it’s good to see him happy.

“Hey,” Killian whispers, tugging at her ankle until she looks up, “I’ll be back, Emma. I always am. And you know not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

This is a routine they’ve done time and time again. It never gets easier, and she never quite knows what to say.

Emma gulps and nods as she unhooks her ankle. “Good.”

-/-

There’s a package outside her apartment on Christmas Eve. She knows who it’s from before she opens it. It can’t be from any of her friends here in Boston. They’ve already exchanged gifts and are all off visiting their families for the holidays. It’s what happens every year, and Emma is good with that. Once, several years ago, she traveled with Mary Margaret to her hometown in Oklahoma, and Emma has never wanted to spend the holiday with family that isn’t her own again.

She doesn’t have any family, so spending it alone in her apartment with all the takeout she can eat works perfectly fine for her. If she could, she’d work and get the overtime pay, but the office is closed.

Dammit.

Emma picks up the box and carries it inside. She drops it on her kitchen counter and grabs a knife to open the tape. Inside is a black sweater and a plaid shirt. Cologne wafts off them, and Emma laughs to herself before pulling her phone out of her coat pocket.

ES: Aren’t I supposed to be the one sending you care packages? Isn’t that usually how this whole deployment thing works?

She doesn’t expect a response. It’s far past midnight in Italy. But her phone vibrates immediately.

KJ: I’ve been in the Navy for 15 years. I like to switch things up.

ES: So I should cancel the gift I sent you?

KJ: Absolutely not. I love good, old-fashioned dirty pictures. I have to keep them in my wallet for safe keeping.

ES: I sent those one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.

KJ: They are stunning pictures. Everyone thought so.

“Ass,” Emma laughs. She sent him pictures one time as a drunken joke, and she has never lived it down. He’s right. They’re great pictures, and Emma knows Killian is the only one who’s ever laid eyes on them. Emma pulls the flannel out of the box. She slips it over her sweater and lets it hang off her arms.

Perfect.

Not that she would ever admit that.

Emma moves from her kitchen to her living room and settles down on the couch. She turns on the TV and finds a Christmas movie. She’s not a total grinch.

‘Tis the season and all.

ES: I will murder you if anyone besides you has ever seen those pictures.

KJ: I can assure you the only one who has ever laid eyes upon them is me.

She had to make sure.

God, this movie has been on for two minutes, and it already seems bad.

Okay, maybe she’s a little bit of a grinch.

ES: What are you doing awake?

KJ: Waiting for you.

Emma knows her heart doesn’t actually skip a beat, but it sure as hell feels like it.

KJ: Merry Christmas, love.

ES: Merry Christmas, Killian.

And, maybe, if she stays in the dark with the messages popping up on her phone, it will be.

-/-

“Why won’t you go out with this guy?” Mary Margaret sighs. Emma rolls her eyes and stuffs another cracker in her mouth. “He’s nice, he has a good job, and he’ll treat you well. One date. What’s the harm?”

“She’s in love with Jones,” Ruby says as Emma eats another cracker. “That’s why.”

“I am not in love with Killian,” Emma mumbles. Crumbs drop onto her shirt. It’s a pretty accurate description of her life at the moment.

Ruby glares at her, and Emma sinks a little further into the couch. She needs wine. And lots of it. This is not how she wanted this night to go, but she should have figured it’s what Mary Margaret wanted when she asked if Emma wanted to come over tonight.

Always an ulterior motive.

“Emma, is that really what it is? Are you still waiting on Killian?”

She’s damn well not waiting on fucking anyone, she thinks.

“I’m not waiting on anyone,” she says

“So, go out with Graham,” Mary Margaret suggests. “You’ll like him. And he’s here. He’s not off in Italy or Germany or South Korea. He’s here in Boston, full-time, and maybe it’s time that you allow yourself to be happy for more than the few days a year when Killian comes home.”

“I’m not pathetically pining for Killian. I have a life. I have a busy job, friends, hobbies. I don’t sit up at night wondering if he’ll call me. He and I have an arrangement, and it works well for us.”

It’s all true. She works overtime every week because the legal field is a bitch. She has friends who are always wanting to get dinner or go to a farmer’s market. She likes running and reading and watching a hell of a lot of TV. She doesn’t need to add in a full-time boyfriend on top of it.

She would…well, she would be too busy to get to enjoy life.

She’d likely save time on her friends nagging her. That would be one plus.

“It’s weird as hell is what it is.” Ruby tops off her wine and then does the same for Emma. Emma both hates and loves her right now. “He comes home, what? Three or four times a year before he takes an assignment somewhere else. You two screw, have your fun, and then you both go off and live your separate lives?”

“The part that doesn’t make any sense to me,” Mary Margaret says, “is the way they’ll both casually date other people in between his assignments and then, miraculously, those relationships end before Killian steps foot on Boston soil.”

“Odd that,” Ruby teases. Emma chugs her wine. “I wonder why.”

“Screw both of you.” Emma downs the rest of her drink and gets up from the couch to get more. She’s going to be hungover tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t have to go anywhere tomorrow. “Since when were the two of you so judgmental about my dating life?”

“Well, I think it started when you decided to date Neal.”

Emma tips her glass to Ruby. “That’s a valid point. He was bad.”

“Horrible.”

“The worst,” Mary Margaret agrees. “Then there was August. Okay but not great.”

“Oh, Walsh,” Ruby adds. “He lasted a long time but he sucked at the end.”

“I don’t like this conversation,” Emma mutters under her breath. “Can we stop?”

“And after him, you met Killian at a bar and decided you’d sleep with him for fun because you knew he wasn’t a permanent fixture.”

“Emma does hate a permanent fixture.”

“Nothing scares her more.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans. She puts her glass on the counter. “I’ll go on the date with Graham if it’ll make us never have this conversation again.”

-/-

Emma’s torn apart her entire closet. She has tried on every dress, has combined every top and pair of jeans she owns, has even pulled out the few jumpsuits she has despite them making having to pee a nightmare.

Nothing looks good.

Okay, that’s not true. A lot of it looks just fine. Emma picks the off-shoulder red dress off her floor and zips herself back into it. It’s a good date night option. It’s tight but breathable, and she can wear boots with it so she’s not stuck in stilettos.

Why are heels really the only nice outfit appropriate shoe? What is she supposed to do when it’s summer and boots are no longer an option? Work will be hell.

God, she does not want to go out tonight. It’s cold and raining, and all she really wants is to go to bed early. Maybe she doesn’t have to go. Maybe if she can’t find the right pair of shoes, she can call and say she’s sick.

That seems like the best idea.

Emma looks at herself in the mirror. The boots look perfect.

She looks great.

Dammit.

She’s going to go on this date. It’s going to be good for her. She’s going to have fun.

She needs to have a little fun. She’s been going from home to work to the gym to home for months now, only switching it up when she needs food or has to talk to someone who does not pay her to do work for them.

There’s a knock on her door, and Emma curses to herself. She Flips her hair, fluffing it, and runs her nail along the corner of her lips to get any stray lipstick.

Okay, this is it, and she’s okay with that.

Maybe. A little.

Her stomach still doesn’t feel quite right, and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

Can she cancel when the man is literally at her door?

“Coming,” Emma yells when there’s another knock. She smooths her dress down once more and takes a deep breath before stepping into the hallway and toward her front door. Emma undoes her locks and swings the door open. “Hi – ”

Killian.

That’s Killian on the other side of her door.

Killian is not supposed to be on the other side of her door.

But there he is, standing there with a bag thrown over his shoulder and a bright white smile on his face.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Holy fuck.”

“Two words that don’t necessarily go together, but I can’t say I mind.”

Emma rarely thinks of herself as speechless, but right now, her brain and her mouth aren’t connecting. She doesn’t know what to say.

He’s a month early.

He’s never a month early.

He’s never early at all.

At least, not like this.

His schedule changes a lot. It does. She’s used to that. But it’s a day here, a week there. It’s not this.

And it’s never unexpected. She always knows.

But then again, he has been a little quiet the last few days. She should have suspected something.

Then again, she’s been quiet too.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles as she kicks at imaginary dirt.

Killian laughs at her as he steps inside her apartment and closes the door behind them. His duffle drops to the ground, and Killian immediately moves toward her, grabbing her waist and pulling her into him until his lips are moving over hers. He’s smiling. She is too. And that makes it all the sweeter for awhile until Emma’s heel clicks against the ground, and she remembers where she’s supposed to be.

On a date.

A date who is picking her up at her apartment because Mary Margaret swears the man isn’t a serial killer and that it’s a safe thing to do.

Right now, it’s feeling really freaking stupid.

“Killian,” Emma mumbles as his lips fall away from hers and move toward her jaw. “Killian, I can’t.”

“What?” he mumbles, still kissing her.

“I – I can’t, not right now. You’re not supposed to be here yet and we have an agreement and…and I didn’t want to, but I felt like I needed to, you know? To prove a point to Mary Margaret and Ruby and, hell, even myself. I just – ”

Killian sighs into her skin, his breath warm, and then he pulls back. She can’t stand to look him in the eyes right now. She’ll go back on her word, she’ll stay here with him, and she can’t do that.

God, she really wants to.

“I should have called,” he whispers. “You have a date.”

“Killian.”

“You look beautiful.” He backs away and picks up his bag. Emma is immediately freezing. “I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Call me if you’d like to.”

-/-

Graham is a really nice guy.

Ridiculously nice, actually.

And Emma hates it. She hates it because of course he’s a good guy who isn’t a total asshole. He’s respectful and sweet and really handsome. He didn’t even try to kiss her at the end of the date. He wanted to. She could tell. But he’s too nice to make a move that fast.

Or maybe Emma was just giving off vibes that she didn’t want to kiss him.

Because all she could think about was the other man who showed up at her door earlier and how she wanted to be with him.

God, she’s missed him. and now instead of being with him, she’s alone, her dress crumpled on the floor of her bedroom.

Why did she have to go?

Why did she let herself go? She could have stayed. She could have stayed with Killian and cancelled on Graham, but she…she what? She wanted to prove something to her friends, to prove that she was fine, that her relationship, or lack thereof, was fine.

She’s got no freaking clue, but she did it. She did it, and now she’s alone.

Emma has never minded being alone, not when she’s so used to it, but right now, it really sucks.

-/-

Emma doesn’t call Killian.

Killian doesn’t call Emma.

It’s a battle where no one is firing, and that’s where the danger lies.

-/-

Emma doesn’t text Graham.

Graham does text Emma.

She gives in and tells him that he’s a great guy, that she had a great time, but she’s not interested right now.

She’ll deal with the fallout from her friends when it comes. It’ll be better than forcing herself into something she so, so isn’t ready for.

At least not with him.

-/-

Emma doesn’t mean to continue not to call him. She really doesn’t. She means to eventually call him, to send the text, but after a few weeks, it’s such a big deal in her head that she can’t find the courage to do something she’s done hundreds of times.

She used to text Killian everything, even if she knew he wouldn’t see it or be able to respond to it. He is never in an actual line of duty anymore, hasn’t been for most of the time she’s known him, but with the time changes and how busy he (and she as well to be honest) can get, it’s normal for them to go long periods of time without speaking.

What’s happening now is not normal.

And Emma doesn’t want to think about it.

But she does.

She thinks about it until it becomes one her demons, the scary ones that don’t just come out at night but also hang around during the day.

There’s no place to hide.

She tries to bury herself in work, but there’s only so much she can do to keep herself occupied sitting at a desk staring at a computer screen all day. Being buried under paperwork that needs proofreading can get a little lonely sometimes, and when it comes second nature to her, her thoughts can stray to things she’d rather forget.

Maybe some ships are always meant to pass in the night, narrowly missing each other.

Maybe if the captains were brave enough, they could make sure the ships meet up.

-/-

“Oh, would you look at that,” Mary Margaret says, “Killian’s in London now.”

Emma looks up from the table. That’s not what she expected to hear tonight. It’s July. It’s hot out, heat waves moving over them and causing sweat to drip down Emma’s back. There’s at least a slight breeze on the roof of Mary Margaret and David’s building, but it’s not enough.

Emma was definitely not made for the summer months. She much prefers the chill of the winter.

“How’d you see that?” David asks. He leans over his wife’s shoulder. “I thought he didn’t use Instagram.”

“He does sometimes, but this is on his sister-in-law’s page.”

Emma isn’t proud of it, but she grabs her phone off the table and quickly types in Elsa’s name.

The first photo on the page is Killian sitting in the garden with his nephew on his lap. The kid looks just like him, even has some marker drawings on different parts of his arms to match Killian’s few visible tattoos, and when Emma zooms in, she notices some drawings scribbled on Killian’s arms as well.

How long will he be in London? Where will he go after that? Is he going to ever be back in Boston?

He doesn’t have a place here anymore. He always stays with her or at a hotel, but he always comes back.

Or he at least used to. She doesn’t actually know anymore.

Emma does something stupid and taps to Killian’s profile. His last picture is of the coast in Italy in December. That was months ago, and the last picture before that is of her silhouette in his hotel room window. It could be anyone, but she knows it’s her.

The caption simply reads: mornings with her.

Sentimental, cheesy man.

Emma does something stupid again, and she taps on the corner of her screen to message him.

@emmaswan22: I like your new tattoos.

It takes under a minute for him to message back. In that minute, she still manages to have a minor anxiety attack.

God, she hopes no one at this dinner party is paying her any attention.

@killianjones: You should see the new one on my ass.

Emma snorts, and suddenly the anxiety washes away. It’s been months of not talking, months of not knowing what’s going on, but this, this is Killian. This is why they’ve stayed in touch over so many years. Something about it, about them, works.

@emmaswan22: I’d love to see it one day.

@killianjones: I’d be happy to show you.

Emma bites her bottom lip.

@killianjones: I miss you, Swan.

It’s such a 180 to the way their conversation was heading that Emma nearly drops her phone. It stumbles out of her hands, but she grabs it before it can hit the hard floor.

@emmaswan22: You look like you’re having a nice time with your family.

@killianjones: Aye, but I hear it’s nice in Boston this time of the year.

@emmaswan22: It’s hot as hell.

@killianjones: But the company would make it worth it.

Emma quickly closes out her phone and stuffs it in the back pocket of her jean shorts. She can’t deal with this. She doesn’t know how. The feelings are too much, too intense, and she’s pushed them down for so long.

Dammit. She’s twenty-eight. She should be able to deal with her own crap by now.

“Emma,” David says, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies with a smile. “I just need to get some air.”

“We’re outside.”

“Some cool air,” she covers. “I need to get some cool air.”

And then she’s gone, ducking inside the stairwell and running down them until she’s outside the building and on her way home.

Killian Jones isn’t the only one who can leave places.

-/-

She tells him that night that she only went on the one date with Graham.

He says he knows. She doesn’t bother to ask how.

They both leave a lot unsaid, but enough was said to begin to make things right.

What a weird situation they have.

More so, how weird would her life feel without it?

Be brave, Emma. Be brave.

@emmaswan22: I miss you too.

-/-

Summer melts into the beginnings of autumn. The heat lingers on, though, not wanting to completely fade away as the leaves begin to turn and fall to the ground. It’s as if it’s holding onto something it cannot bear to let go, the last remnants of the freedom of summer staying until all that freedom is gone.

Summer is gone, however, and even if the heat lingers on for a little while longer, September fades into October, and October fades into November. Eventually, the weather cools, and the leaves all fall. Emma cannot so much as walk down the sidewalk without leaves crunching underneath the heels of her boots. Soon, snow will come with them.

She kicks at one particularly pesky one stuck on her boot. It refuses to knock off and join its friends on the ground, so Emma stops and leans up against a building to pick it off. Usually, she’d leave it, but today has been a hell of a day. She could scream or burst into tears at the slightest irritation. The last thing she needs is to lose her footing because of a wet leaf on her heel skidding across the polished floor of her apartment’s lobby.

God, when did she become that asshole whose apartment has a polished lobby?

Emma pulls the wet leaf off her heel and tosses it to the ground. She checks her boot to make sure nothing else happened to it – she spent way too much money on these boots – and when all is good, she looks up. She’s not in a busy part of the city, just the area around her place. It’s got a few small restaurants, shops, and one too many pharmacies, but the foot traffic in the middle of the day is as low as it’s ever going to get.

So, Emma most definitely must be hallucinating.

She has to be because there is no other explanation to what she thinks she’s seeing across the street.

He has a baseball hat on. That’s not unusual for him, but it’s not exactly…usual. She can’t think of another word. Her brain is not working at the moment.

Because, there, in Williamson Furniture is Killian Jones.

Or, hell, the best damn Killian Jones impersonator on the planet.

What the fuck?

Emma blinks, then blinks again, but he’s still there, running his hand across the top of a table. She starts walking before she can fully think things through. They’ve been talking on and off for the past few months. It’s mostly been through text, but on occasion, when she has a glass of wine in her, she’ll call.

Killian calls more often.

It’s normal and weird all wrapped into one complicated…something. She wants to call it a relationship, but to be honest, she doesn’t know what they are anymore.

She’s never really known, but it’s always been something.

Not just friends, not quite true lovers.

Yet she knows him better than anyone in her life, better than even the people she sees on a daily basis, but seeing him back in her neighborhood without telling her makes her wonder if she really knows him at all.

The surprise didn’t go well last time. They talked about it.

Why the hell would he do it again?

Maybe he simply doesn’t want her to know he’s here.

The door triggers a bell when Emma steps into the shop, and Killian looks up. He’s more shocked to see her than she was to see him, and that’s saying something considering he knows she lives two blocks from here.

“Emma.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It comes out louder than she meant it to, and Emma’s cheeks blush when she realizes everyone in the place is staring at her. God, she wishes this place was bigger. What she wouldn’t give to be in a Walmart or something right now.

What a weird thought.

Killian smiles, the one she knows he uses to charm people, and Emma swears she feels it in the pit of her stomach. This is a weird day with weird thoughts with even weirder sightings.

“I need a table.”

“Why?”

He arches a brow. “I, unlike you, prefer to eat at a table instead of sitting on the couch.”

“No, why do you need a table? Don’t you need somewhere to put it? The shipping costs from here to…wherever probably suck.”

“I was thinking I’d just call some of my mates and have them help me carry it to my place. Not a great time, but not expensive either.”

“Your place…in DC?”

“My place here.” He pulls some keys out of his jacket pocket and holds them in front of him. “New assignment. A bit more of an office job.”

“I’m sorry…what? What are you talking about?”

It’s like he’s getting joy out of her confusion. The smug ass.

Because she is seriously, definitely confused right now.

She’s not sure if she’s angry or upset or, well, happy.

She hates herself a little bit for feeling that tiny shred of happiness and that even tinier shred of hope.

“Turns out,” Killian says, tapping his fingers on the table and stepping closer to her. He looks the same. Mostly. But his hair is longer and his beard is more than stubble. She likes it. “Turns out that when you’ve established yourself like I have, they do occasionally let you choose to stay in a place of your choice.”

He steps even closer, and suddenly she can feel his warmth. God, he’s always been so warm.

“Did you miss me, Swan?”

Emma laughs, and this time it’s her turn to step into him. It’s so natural, the two of them, like she’s known how to be with him since they met. She’s just never allowed herself to truly be with him. He always leaves just like everyone else has.

But it hurts a hell of a lot more.

“You didn’t tell me you were here.”

“I wanted everything to be official.”

“You aren’t staying,” Emma sighs with a shake of her head. “You never can.”

Killian steps into her and reaches up to hold his hand against her cheek. There’s that warmth again. “I’ve always had the ability to stay, darling,” he whispers as he leans into her and rests his forehead against hers. “I’ve simply never known that you wanted me to.”

“And what makes you think I do now?”

“Last month,” he begins, “we were on the phone, and you said something that stuck with me.”

“What was that?”

“That you wished I could be around more so we could give things a true go.”

Emma remembers that. She stayed up for hours thinking of how stupid she was to say that.

Maybe she wasn’t stupid.

“Did I say that?”

“Every word.” Killian lifts his head and presses his lips to her forehead. “So is it okay with you, Swan? For me to be here?”

“I want you to,” Emma begins. She was brave that night. She can be brave today. “I want you to stay. I’m terrified and confused and don’t really know what the hell we’ve been doing for…for a long time, but if you can, I want you to stay.”

“Aye, I can stay,” Killian whispers before pulling back. “So what do you think about this table?”

Emma laughs and, for the first time, actually takes a look at the table and at all the people who have just been witnessing their little show. “I think I’m a fan.”

Killian’s brow shoots sky high. “You only think you’re a fan?”

Emma hums and runs her hand along the wood. “It might take me awhile to get used to it being around all the time, but I think it might work out just fine. I’ve got a good hunch about it.”

“Me too,” he says before glancing down at her chest. Emma adjusts the flannel of her shirt, which she now remembers isn’t actually hers. “By the way, nice shirt.”

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @andiirivera @resident-of-storybrooke @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion @dramioneswan @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @gloriousfemaleworrier @spartanguard @snowbellewells

112 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 2 years

Text

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Opportunities to be happy doing nothing.

“I’m getting dressed. I have places to be, things to do.”

“People to meet?”

“So you know how the saying goes?”

“In bed with you?” Emma questions. “Whatever would I do in bed with you?”

“Sleep.”

Emma laughs and leans back into him, craning her neck to grant him more access. “This doesn’t feel like you want to go back to sleep.”

“Well, I think I might need to tire myself out first.”

“What do you have in mind?”

It’s Killian’s turn to laugh, and the vibrations of it against her skin nearly drive her mad.

This is good, these moments. They don’t get too many of them, and Emma doesn’t know why she bothered to even get out of bed.

Oh wait. She does. She needed coffee.

“Coffee,” Emma says as she turns and nuzzles her nose into the ink just below his collarbone. “I wanted coffee. That’s why I got out of bed.”

“What if I promise to make you coffee in an hour?”

“An hour is pushing it. By a lot.”

Killian laughs. “I was factoring in time to shower. And to get dressed. And maybe watch some television.”

“What if,” Emma says, kissing Killian’s chest as she laughs, “you take me out to get coffee instead? I’ll give you your hour if you do.”

“It’s a deal, Swan.”

-/-

Asshole.

But he’s her obnoxious ass today, and she isn’t going to complain.

Okay, she is, but she’ll keep it to a minimum.

None of that matters. Not when everything, right at this moment, is as close to perfect as she ever allows it to be.

She’s learning to allow herself to be happy. She’s got to keep remembering that.

“Killian.”

He looks up from his side of the booth and flashes her the smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle. She always loves when that happens.

“Yes, love?”

“I just,” she begins, but all the courage she had been building begins to dissipate, “I…”

Killian shrugs and shifts his foot against Emma’s under the table. “My flight back is tonight.”

“You stationed back in the states now or do they have you in Europe?”

“I’m in Italy for six months, but then I’ll be back for awhile.”

“Damn, Italy. That seems nice. Why don’t you give me a call when you’re back? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Yeah, mate,” Killian sighs, nodding to Will while his boot stays connected under her ankle, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Sweet. See you around, Jones. Nice to see you too, Emma.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, “nice to see you too.”

Only a little bit of that was a lie.

Will walks away from them and to his table across the diner. He sits down next to a pretty brunette, and as much as he annoys her when she runs into him, it’s good to see him happy.

“Hey,” Killian whispers, tugging at her ankle until she looks up, “I’ll be back, Emma. I always am. And you know not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

This is a routine they’ve done time and time again. It never gets easier, and she never quite knows what to say.

Emma gulps and nods as she unhooks her ankle. “Good.”

-/-

Dammit.

ES: Aren’t I supposed to be the one sending you care packages? Isn’t that usually how this whole deployment thing works?

She doesn’t expect a response. It’s far past midnight in Italy. But her phone vibrates immediately.

KJ: I’ve been in the Navy for 15 years. I like to switch things up.

ES: So I should cancel the gift I sent you?

KJ: Absolutely not. I love good, old-fashioned dirty pictures. I have to keep them in my wallet for safe keeping.

ES: I sent those one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.

KJ: They are stunning pictures. Everyone thought so.

Perfect.

Not that she would ever admit that.

Emma moves from her kitchen to her living room and settles down on the couch. She turns on the TV and finds a Christmas movie. She’s not a total grinch.

‘Tis the season and all.

ES: I will murder you if anyone besides you has ever seen those pictures.

KJ: I can assure you the only one who has ever laid eyes upon them is me.

She had to make sure.

God, this movie has been on for two minutes, and it already seems bad.

Okay, maybe she’s a little bit of a grinch.

ES: What are you doing awake?

KJ: Waiting for you.

Emma knows her heart doesn’t actually skip a beat, but it sure as hell feels like it.

KJ: Merry Christmas, love.

ES: Merry Christmas, Killian.

And, maybe, if she stays in the dark with the messages popping up on her phone, it will be.

-/-

“She’s in love with Jones,” Ruby says as Emma eats another cracker. “That’s why.”

“I am not in love with Killian,” Emma mumbles. Crumbs drop onto her shirt. It’s a pretty accurate description of her life at the moment.

Always an ulterior motive.

“Emma, is that really what it is? Are you still waiting on Killian?”

She’s damn well not waiting on fucking anyone, she thinks.

“I’m not waiting on anyone,” she says

She would…well, she would be too busy to get to enjoy life.

She’d likely save time on her friends nagging her. That would be one plus.

“Odd that,” Ruby teases. Emma chugs her wine. “I wonder why.”

“Well, I think it started when you decided to date Neal.”

Emma tips her glass to Ruby. “That’s a valid point. He was bad.”

“Horrible.”

“The worst,” Mary Margaret agrees. “Then there was August. Okay but not great.”

“Oh, Walsh,” Ruby adds. “He lasted a long time but he sucked at the end.”

“I don’t like this conversation,” Emma mutters under her breath. “Can we stop?”

“And after him, you met Killian at a bar and decided you’d sleep with him for fun because you knew he wasn’t a permanent fixture.”

“Emma does hate a permanent fixture.”

“Nothing scares her more.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans. She puts her glass on the counter. “I’ll go on the date with Graham if it’ll make us never have this conversation again.”

-/-

Nothing looks good.

Why are heels really the only nice outfit appropriate shoe? What is she supposed to do when it’s summer and boots are no longer an option? Work will be hell.

That seems like the best idea.

Emma looks at herself in the mirror. The boots look perfect.

She looks great.

Dammit.

She’s going to go on this date. It’s going to be good for her. She’s going to have fun.

There’s a knock on her door, and Emma curses to herself. She Flips her hair, fluffing it, and runs her nail along the corner of her lips to get any stray lipstick.

Okay, this is it, and she’s okay with that.

Maybe. A little.

Her stomach still doesn’t feel quite right, and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

Can she cancel when the man is literally at her door?

Killian.

That’s Killian on the other side of her door.

Killian is not supposed to be on the other side of her door.

But there he is, standing there with a bag thrown over his shoulder and a bright white smile on his face.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Holy fuck.”

“Two words that don’t necessarily go together, but I can’t say I mind.”

Emma rarely thinks of herself as speechless, but right now, her brain and her mouth aren’t connecting. She doesn’t know what to say.

He’s a month early.

He’s never a month early.

He’s never early at all.

At least, not like this.

His schedule changes a lot. It does. She’s used to that. But it’s a day here, a week there. It’s not this.

And it’s never unexpected. She always knows.

But then again, he has been a little quiet the last few days. She should have suspected something.

Then again, she’s been quiet too.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles as she kicks at imaginary dirt.

On a date.

A date who is picking her up at her apartment because Mary Margaret swears the man isn’t a serial killer and that it’s a safe thing to do.

Right now, it’s feeling really freaking stupid.

“Killian,” Emma mumbles as his lips fall away from hers and move toward her jaw. “Killian, I can’t.”

“What?” he mumbles, still kissing her.

God, she really wants to.

“I should have called,” he whispers. “You have a date.”

“Killian.”

“You look beautiful.” He backs away and picks up his bag. Emma is immediately freezing. “I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Call me if you’d like to.”

-/-

Graham is a really nice guy.

Ridiculously nice, actually.

Or maybe Emma was just giving off vibes that she didn’t want to kiss him.

Because all she could think about was the other man who showed up at her door earlier and how she wanted to be with him.

God, she’s missed him. and now instead of being with him, she’s alone, her dress crumpled on the floor of her bedroom.

Why did she have to go?

She’s got no freaking clue, but she did it. She did it, and now she’s alone.

Emma has never minded being alone, not when she’s so used to it, but right now, it really sucks.

-/-

Emma doesn’t call Killian.

Killian doesn’t call Emma.

It’s a battle where no one is firing, and that’s where the danger lies.

-/-

Emma doesn’t text Graham.

Graham does text Emma.

She gives in and tells him that he’s a great guy, that she had a great time, but she’s not interested right now.

She’ll deal with the fallout from her friends when it comes. It’ll be better than forcing herself into something she so, so isn’t ready for.

At least not with him.

-/-

What’s happening now is not normal.

And Emma doesn’t want to think about it.

But she does.

She thinks about it until it becomes one her demons, the scary ones that don’t just come out at night but also hang around during the day.

There’s no place to hide.

Maybe some ships are always meant to pass in the night, narrowly missing each other.

Maybe if the captains were brave enough, they could make sure the ships meet up.

-/-

“Oh, would you look at that,” Mary Margaret says, “Killian’s in London now.”

Emma was definitely not made for the summer months. She much prefers the chill of the winter.

“How’d you see that?” David asks. He leans over his wife’s shoulder. “I thought he didn’t use Instagram.”

“He does sometimes, but this is on his sister-in-law’s page.”

Emma isn’t proud of it, but she grabs her phone off the table and quickly types in Elsa’s name.

How long will he be in London? Where will he go after that? Is he going to ever be back in Boston?

He doesn’t have a place here anymore. He always stays with her or at a hotel, but he always comes back.

Or he at least used to. She doesn’t actually know anymore.

The caption simply reads: mornings with her.

Sentimental, cheesy man.

Emma does something stupid again, and she taps on the corner of her screen to message him.

@emmaswan22: I like your new tattoos.

It takes under a minute for him to message back. In that minute, she still manages to have a minor anxiety attack.

God, she hopes no one at this dinner party is paying her any attention.

@killianjones: You should see the new one on my ass.

@emmaswan22: I’d love to see it one day.

@killianjones: I’d be happy to show you.

Emma bites her bottom lip.

@killianjones: I miss you, Swan.

It’s such a 180 to the way their conversation was heading that Emma nearly drops her phone. It stumbles out of her hands, but she grabs it before it can hit the hard floor.

@emmaswan22: You look like you’re having a nice time with your family.

@killianjones: Aye, but I hear it’s nice in Boston this time of the year.

@emmaswan22: It’s hot as hell.

@killianjones: But the company would make it worth it.

Dammit. She’s twenty-eight. She should be able to deal with her own crap by now.

“Emma,” David says, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies with a smile. “I just need to get some air.”

“We’re outside.”

“Some cool air,” she covers. “I need to get some cool air.”

And then she’s gone, ducking inside the stairwell and running down them until she’s outside the building and on her way home.

Killian Jones isn’t the only one who can leave places.

-/-

She tells him that night that she only went on the one date with Graham.

He says he knows. She doesn’t bother to ask how.

They both leave a lot unsaid, but enough was said to begin to make things right.

What a weird situation they have.

More so, how weird would her life feel without it?

Be brave, Emma. Be brave.

@emmaswan22: I miss you too.

-/-

God, when did she become that asshole whose apartment has a polished lobby?

So, Emma most definitely must be hallucinating.

She has to be because there is no other explanation to what she thinks she’s seeing across the street.

He has a baseball hat on. That’s not unusual for him, but it’s not exactly…usual. She can’t think of another word. Her brain is not working at the moment.

Because, there, in Williamson Furniture is Killian Jones.

Or, hell, the best damn Killian Jones impersonator on the planet.

What the fuck?

Killian calls more often.

It’s normal and weird all wrapped into one complicated…something. She wants to call it a relationship, but to be honest, she doesn’t know what they are anymore.

She’s never really known, but it’s always been something.

Not just friends, not quite true lovers.

The surprise didn’t go well last time. They talked about it.

Why the hell would he do it again?

Maybe he simply doesn’t want her to know he’s here.

“Emma.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

What a weird thought.

Killian smiles, the one she knows he uses to charm people, and Emma swears she feels it in the pit of her stomach. This is a weird day with weird thoughts with even weirder sightings.

“I need a table.”

“Why?”

He arches a brow. “I, unlike you, prefer to eat at a table instead of sitting on the couch.”

“No, why do you need a table? Don’t you need somewhere to put it? The shipping costs from here to…wherever probably suck.”

“I was thinking I’d just call some of my mates and have them help me carry it to my place. Not a great time, but not expensive either.”

“Your place…in DC?”

“My place here.” He pulls some keys out of his jacket pocket and holds them in front of him. “New assignment. A bit more of an office job.”

“I’m sorry…what? What are you talking about?”

It’s like he’s getting joy out of her confusion. The smug ass.

Because she is seriously, definitely confused right now.

She’s not sure if she’s angry or upset or, well, happy.

She hates herself a little bit for feeling that tiny shred of happiness and that even tinier shred of hope.

He steps even closer, and suddenly she can feel his warmth. God, he’s always been so warm.

“Did you miss me, Swan?”

But it hurts a hell of a lot more.

“You didn’t tell me you were here.”

“I wanted everything to be official.”

“You aren’t staying,” Emma sighs with a shake of her head. “You never can.”

“And what makes you think I do now?”

“Last month,” he begins, “we were on the phone, and you said something that stuck with me.”

“What was that?”

“That you wished I could be around more so we could give things a true go.”

Emma remembers that. She stayed up for hours thinking of how stupid she was to say that.

Maybe she wasn’t stupid.

“Did I say that?”

“Every word.” Killian lifts his head and presses his lips to her forehead. “So is it okay with you, Swan? For me to be here?”

“Aye, I can stay,” Killian whispers before pulling back. “So what do you think about this table?”

Emma laughs and, for the first time, actually takes a look at the table and at all the people who have just been witnessing their little show. “I think I’m a fan.”

Killian’s brow shoots sky high. “You only think you’re a fan?”

Emma hums and runs her hand along the wood. “It might take me awhile to get used to it being around all the time, but I think it might work out just fine. I’ve got a good hunch about it.”

“Me too,” he says before glancing down at her chest. Emma adjusts the flannel of her shirt, which she now remembers isn’t actually hers. “By the way, nice shirt.”

-/-

#icymi #queue poetic noble land mermaid

112 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 2 years

Text

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Opportunities to be happy doing nothing.

“I’m getting dressed. I have places to be, things to do.”

“People to meet?”

“So you know how the saying goes?”

“In bed with you?” Emma questions. “Whatever would I do in bed with you?”

“Sleep.”

Emma laughs and leans back into him, craning her neck to grant him more access. “This doesn’t feel like you want to go back to sleep.”

“Well, I think I might need to tire myself out first.”

“What do you have in mind?”

It’s Killian’s turn to laugh, and the vibrations of it against her skin nearly drive her mad.

This is good, these moments. They don’t get too many of them, and Emma doesn’t know why she bothered to even get out of bed.

Oh wait. She does. She needed coffee.

“Coffee,” Emma says as she turns and nuzzles her nose into the ink just below his collarbone. “I wanted coffee. That’s why I got out of bed.”

“What if I promise to make you coffee in an hour?”

“An hour is pushing it. By a lot.”

Killian laughs. “I was factoring in time to shower. And to get dressed. And maybe watch some television.”

“What if,” Emma says, kissing Killian’s chest as she laughs, “you take me out to get coffee instead? I’ll give you your hour if you do.”

“It’s a deal, Swan.”

-/-

Asshole.

But he’s her obnoxious ass today, and she isn’t going to complain.

Okay, she is, but she’ll keep it to a minimum.

None of that matters. Not when everything, right at this moment, is as close to perfect as she ever allows it to be.

She’s learning to allow herself to be happy. She’s got to keep remembering that.

“Killian.”

He looks up from his side of the booth and flashes her the smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle. She always loves when that happens.

“Yes, love?”

“I just,” she begins, but all the courage she had been building begins to dissipate, “I…”

Killian shrugs and shifts his foot against Emma’s under the table. “My flight back is tonight.”

“You stationed back in the states now or do they have you in Europe?”

“I’m in Italy for six months, but then I’ll be back for awhile.”

“Damn, Italy. That seems nice. Why don’t you give me a call when you’re back? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Yeah, mate,” Killian sighs, nodding to Will while his boot stays connected under her ankle, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Sweet. See you around, Jones. Nice to see you too, Emma.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, “nice to see you too.”

Only a little bit of that was a lie.

Will walks away from them and to his table across the diner. He sits down next to a pretty brunette, and as much as he annoys her when she runs into him, it’s good to see him happy.

“Hey,” Killian whispers, tugging at her ankle until she looks up, “I’ll be back, Emma. I always am. And you know not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

This is a routine they’ve done time and time again. It never gets easier, and she never quite knows what to say.

Emma gulps and nods as she unhooks her ankle. “Good.”

-/-

Dammit.

ES: Aren’t I supposed to be the one sending you care packages? Isn’t that usually how this whole deployment thing works?

She doesn’t expect a response. It’s far past midnight in Italy. But her phone vibrates immediately.

KJ: I’ve been in the Navy for 15 years. I like to switch things up.

ES: So I should cancel the gift I sent you?

KJ: Absolutely not. I love good, old-fashioned dirty pictures. I have to keep them in my wallet for safe keeping.

ES: I sent those one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.

KJ: They are stunning pictures. Everyone thought so.

Perfect.

Not that she would ever admit that.

Emma moves from her kitchen to her living room and settles down on the couch. She turns on the TV and finds a Christmas movie. She’s not a total grinch.

‘Tis the season and all.

ES: I will murder you if anyone besides you has ever seen those pictures.

KJ: I can assure you the only one who has ever laid eyes upon them is me.

She had to make sure.

God, this movie has been on for two minutes, and it already seems bad.

Okay, maybe she’s a little bit of a grinch.

ES: What are you doing awake?

KJ: Waiting for you.

Emma knows her heart doesn’t actually skip a beat, but it sure as hell feels like it.

KJ: Merry Christmas, love.

ES: Merry Christmas, Killian.

And, maybe, if she stays in the dark with the messages popping up on her phone, it will be.

-/-

“She’s in love with Jones,” Ruby says as Emma eats another cracker. “That’s why.”

“I am not in love with Killian,” Emma mumbles. Crumbs drop onto her shirt. It’s a pretty accurate description of her life at the moment.

Always an ulterior motive.

“Emma, is that really what it is? Are you still waiting on Killian?”

She’s damn well not waiting on fucking anyone, she thinks.

“I’m not waiting on anyone,” she says

She would…well, she would be too busy to get to enjoy life.

She’d likely save time on her friends nagging her. That would be one plus.

“Odd that,” Ruby teases. Emma chugs her wine. “I wonder why.”

“Well, I think it started when you decided to date Neal.”

Emma tips her glass to Ruby. “That’s a valid point. He was bad.”

“Horrible.”

“The worst,” Mary Margaret agrees. “Then there was August. Okay but not great.”

“Oh, Walsh,” Ruby adds. “He lasted a long time but he sucked at the end.”

“I don’t like this conversation,” Emma mutters under her breath. “Can we stop?”

“And after him, you met Killian at a bar and decided you’d sleep with him for fun because you knew he wasn’t a permanent fixture.”

“Emma does hate a permanent fixture.”

“Nothing scares her more.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans. She puts her glass on the counter. “I’ll go on the date with Graham if it’ll make us never have this conversation again.”

-/-

Nothing looks good.

Why are heels really the only nice outfit appropriate shoe? What is she supposed to do when it’s summer and boots are no longer an option? Work will be hell.

That seems like the best idea.

Emma looks at herself in the mirror. The boots look perfect.

She looks great.

Dammit.

She’s going to go on this date. It’s going to be good for her. She’s going to have fun.

There’s a knock on her door, and Emma curses to herself. She Flips her hair, fluffing it, and runs her nail along the corner of her lips to get any stray lipstick.

Okay, this is it, and she’s okay with that.

Maybe. A little.

Her stomach still doesn’t feel quite right, and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

Can she cancel when the man is literally at her door?

Killian.

That’s Killian on the other side of her door.

Killian is not supposed to be on the other side of her door.

But there he is, standing there with a bag thrown over his shoulder and a bright white smile on his face.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Holy fuck.”

“Two words that don’t necessarily go together, but I can’t say I mind.”

Emma rarely thinks of herself as speechless, but right now, her brain and her mouth aren’t connecting. She doesn’t know what to say.

He’s a month early.

He’s never a month early.

He’s never early at all.

At least, not like this.

His schedule changes a lot. It does. She’s used to that. But it’s a day here, a week there. It’s not this.

And it’s never unexpected. She always knows.

But then again, he has been a little quiet the last few days. She should have suspected something.

Then again, she’s been quiet too.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles as she kicks at imaginary dirt.

On a date.

A date who is picking her up at her apartment because Mary Margaret swears the man isn’t a serial killer and that it’s a safe thing to do.

Right now, it’s feeling really freaking stupid.

“Killian,” Emma mumbles as his lips fall away from hers and move toward her jaw. “Killian, I can’t.”

“What?” he mumbles, still kissing her.

God, she really wants to.

“I should have called,” he whispers. “You have a date.”

“Killian.”

“You look beautiful.” He backs away and picks up his bag. Emma is immediately freezing. “I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Call me if you’d like to.”

-/-

Graham is a really nice guy.

Ridiculously nice, actually.

Or maybe Emma was just giving off vibes that she didn’t want to kiss him.

Because all she could think about was the other man who showed up at her door earlier and how she wanted to be with him.

God, she’s missed him. and now instead of being with him, she’s alone, her dress crumpled on the floor of her bedroom.

Why did she have to go?

She’s got no freaking clue, but she did it. She did it, and now she’s alone.

Emma has never minded being alone, not when she’s so used to it, but right now, it really sucks.

-/-

Emma doesn’t call Killian.

Killian doesn’t call Emma.

It’s a battle where no one is firing, and that’s where the danger lies.

-/-

Emma doesn’t text Graham.

Graham does text Emma.

She gives in and tells him that he’s a great guy, that she had a great time, but she’s not interested right now.

She’ll deal with the fallout from her friends when it comes. It’ll be better than forcing herself into something she so, so isn’t ready for.

At least not with him.

-/-

What’s happening now is not normal.

And Emma doesn’t want to think about it.

But she does.

She thinks about it until it becomes one her demons, the scary ones that don’t just come out at night but also hang around during the day.

There’s no place to hide.

Maybe some ships are always meant to pass in the night, narrowly missing each other.

Maybe if the captains were brave enough, they could make sure the ships meet up.

-/-

“Oh, would you look at that,” Mary Margaret says, “Killian’s in London now.”

Emma was definitely not made for the summer months. She much prefers the chill of the winter.

“How’d you see that?” David asks. He leans over his wife’s shoulder. “I thought he didn’t use Instagram.”

“He does sometimes, but this is on his sister-in-law’s page.”

Emma isn’t proud of it, but she grabs her phone off the table and quickly types in Elsa’s name.

How long will he be in London? Where will he go after that? Is he going to ever be back in Boston?

He doesn’t have a place here anymore. He always stays with her or at a hotel, but he always comes back.

Or he at least used to. She doesn’t actually know anymore.

The caption simply reads: mornings with her.

Sentimental, cheesy man.

Emma does something stupid again, and she taps on the corner of her screen to message him.

@emmaswan22: I like your new tattoos.

It takes under a minute for him to message back. In that minute, she still manages to have a minor anxiety attack.

God, she hopes no one at this dinner party is paying her any attention.

@killianjones: You should see the new one on my ass.

@emmaswan22: I’d love to see it one day.

@killianjones: I’d be happy to show you.

Emma bites her bottom lip.

@killianjones: I miss you, Swan.

It’s such a 180 to the way their conversation was heading that Emma nearly drops her phone. It stumbles out of her hands, but she grabs it before it can hit the hard floor.

@emmaswan22: You look like you’re having a nice time with your family.

@killianjones: Aye, but I hear it’s nice in Boston this time of the year.

@emmaswan22: It’s hot as hell.

@killianjones: But the company would make it worth it.

Dammit. She’s twenty-eight. She should be able to deal with her own crap by now.

“Emma,” David says, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies with a smile. “I just need to get some air.”

“We’re outside.”

“Some cool air,” she covers. “I need to get some cool air.”

And then she’s gone, ducking inside the stairwell and running down them until she’s outside the building and on her way home.

Killian Jones isn’t the only one who can leave places.

-/-

She tells him that night that she only went on the one date with Graham.

He says he knows. She doesn’t bother to ask how.

They both leave a lot unsaid, but enough was said to begin to make things right.

What a weird situation they have.

More so, how weird would her life feel without it?

Be brave, Emma. Be brave.

@emmaswan22: I miss you too.

-/-

God, when did she become that asshole whose apartment has a polished lobby?

So, Emma most definitely must be hallucinating.

She has to be because there is no other explanation to what she thinks she’s seeing across the street.

He has a baseball hat on. That’s not unusual for him, but it’s not exactly…usual. She can’t think of another word. Her brain is not working at the moment.

Because, there, in Williamson Furniture is Killian Jones.

Or, hell, the best damn Killian Jones impersonator on the planet.

What the fuck?

Killian calls more often.

It’s normal and weird all wrapped into one complicated…something. She wants to call it a relationship, but to be honest, she doesn’t know what they are anymore.

She’s never really known, but it’s always been something.

Not just friends, not quite true lovers.

The surprise didn’t go well last time. They talked about it.

Why the hell would he do it again?

Maybe he simply doesn’t want her to know he’s here.

“Emma.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

What a weird thought.

Killian smiles, the one she knows he uses to charm people, and Emma swears she feels it in the pit of her stomach. This is a weird day with weird thoughts with even weirder sightings.

“I need a table.”

“Why?”

He arches a brow. “I, unlike you, prefer to eat at a table instead of sitting on the couch.”

“No, why do you need a table? Don’t you need somewhere to put it? The shipping costs from here to…wherever probably suck.”

“I was thinking I’d just call some of my mates and have them help me carry it to my place. Not a great time, but not expensive either.”

“Your place…in DC?”

“My place here.” He pulls some keys out of his jacket pocket and holds them in front of him. “New assignment. A bit more of an office job.”

“I’m sorry…what? What are you talking about?”

It’s like he’s getting joy out of her confusion. The smug ass.

Because she is seriously, definitely confused right now.

She’s not sure if she’s angry or upset or, well, happy.

She hates herself a little bit for feeling that tiny shred of happiness and that even tinier shred of hope.

He steps even closer, and suddenly she can feel his warmth. God, he’s always been so warm.

“Did you miss me, Swan?”

But it hurts a hell of a lot more.

“You didn’t tell me you were here.”

“I wanted everything to be official.”

“You aren’t staying,” Emma sighs with a shake of her head. “You never can.”

“And what makes you think I do now?”

“Last month,” he begins, “we were on the phone, and you said something that stuck with me.”

“What was that?”

“That you wished I could be around more so we could give things a true go.”

Emma remembers that. She stayed up for hours thinking of how stupid she was to say that.

Maybe she wasn’t stupid.

“Did I say that?”

“Every word.” Killian lifts his head and presses his lips to her forehead. “So is it okay with you, Swan? For me to be here?”

“Aye, I can stay,” Killian whispers before pulling back. “So what do you think about this table?”

Emma laughs and, for the first time, actually takes a look at the table and at all the people who have just been witnessing their little show. “I think I’m a fan.”

Killian’s brow shoots sky high. “You only think you’re a fan?”

Emma hums and runs her hand along the wood. “It might take me awhile to get used to it being around all the time, but I think it might work out just fine. I’ve got a good hunch about it.”

“Me too,” he says before glancing down at her chest. Emma adjusts the flannel of her shirt, which she now remembers isn’t actually hers. “By the way, nice shirt.”

-/-

#icymi #queue poetic noble land mermaid

112 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 2 years

Text

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Opportunities to be happy doing nothing.

“I’m getting dressed. I have places to be, things to do.”

“People to meet?”

“So you know how the saying goes?”

“In bed with you?” Emma questions. “Whatever would I do in bed with you?”

“Sleep.”

Emma laughs and leans back into him, craning her neck to grant him more access. “This doesn’t feel like you want to go back to sleep.”

“Well, I think I might need to tire myself out first.”

“What do you have in mind?”

It’s Killian’s turn to laugh, and the vibrations of it against her skin nearly drive her mad.

This is good, these moments. They don’t get too many of them, and Emma doesn’t know why she bothered to even get out of bed.

Oh wait. She does. She needed coffee.

“Coffee,” Emma says as she turns and nuzzles her nose into the ink just below his collarbone. “I wanted coffee. That’s why I got out of bed.”

“What if I promise to make you coffee in an hour?”

“An hour is pushing it. By a lot.”

Killian laughs. “I was factoring in time to shower. And to get dressed. And maybe watch some television.”

“What if,” Emma says, kissing Killian’s chest as she laughs, “you take me out to get coffee instead? I’ll give you your hour if you do.”

“It’s a deal, Swan.”

-/-

Asshole.

But he’s her obnoxious ass today, and she isn’t going to complain.

Okay, she is, but she’ll keep it to a minimum.

None of that matters. Not when everything, right at this moment, is as close to perfect as she ever allows it to be.

She’s learning to allow herself to be happy. She’s got to keep remembering that.

“Killian.”

He looks up from his side of the booth and flashes her the smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle. She always loves when that happens.

“Yes, love?”

“I just,” she begins, but all the courage she had been building begins to dissipate, “I…”

Killian shrugs and shifts his foot against Emma’s under the table. “My flight back is tonight.”

“You stationed back in the states now or do they have you in Europe?”

“I’m in Italy for six months, but then I’ll be back for awhile.”

“Damn, Italy. That seems nice. Why don’t you give me a call when you’re back? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Yeah, mate,” Killian sighs, nodding to Will while his boot stays connected under her ankle, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Sweet. See you around, Jones. Nice to see you too, Emma.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, “nice to see you too.”

Only a little bit of that was a lie.

Will walks away from them and to his table across the diner. He sits down next to a pretty brunette, and as much as he annoys her when she runs into him, it’s good to see him happy.

“Hey,” Killian whispers, tugging at her ankle until she looks up, “I’ll be back, Emma. I always am. And you know not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

This is a routine they’ve done time and time again. It never gets easier, and she never quite knows what to say.

Emma gulps and nods as she unhooks her ankle. “Good.”

-/-

Dammit.

ES: Aren’t I supposed to be the one sending you care packages? Isn’t that usually how this whole deployment thing works?

She doesn’t expect a response. It’s far past midnight in Italy. But her phone vibrates immediately.

KJ: I’ve been in the Navy for 15 years. I like to switch things up.

ES: So I should cancel the gift I sent you?

KJ: Absolutely not. I love good, old-fashioned dirty pictures. I have to keep them in my wallet for safe keeping.

ES: I sent those one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.

KJ: They are stunning pictures. Everyone thought so.

Perfect.

Not that she would ever admit that.

Emma moves from her kitchen to her living room and settles down on the couch. She turns on the TV and finds a Christmas movie. She’s not a total grinch.

‘Tis the season and all.

ES: I will murder you if anyone besides you has ever seen those pictures.

KJ: I can assure you the only one who has ever laid eyes upon them is me.

She had to make sure.

God, this movie has been on for two minutes, and it already seems bad.

Okay, maybe she’s a little bit of a grinch.

ES: What are you doing awake?

KJ: Waiting for you.

Emma knows her heart doesn’t actually skip a beat, but it sure as hell feels like it.

KJ: Merry Christmas, love.

ES: Merry Christmas, Killian.

And, maybe, if she stays in the dark with the messages popping up on her phone, it will be.

-/-

“She’s in love with Jones,” Ruby says as Emma eats another cracker. “That’s why.”

“I am not in love with Killian,” Emma mumbles. Crumbs drop onto her shirt. It’s a pretty accurate description of her life at the moment.

Always an ulterior motive.

“Emma, is that really what it is? Are you still waiting on Killian?”

She’s damn well not waiting on fucking anyone, she thinks.

“I’m not waiting on anyone,” she says

She would…well, she would be too busy to get to enjoy life.

She’d likely save time on her friends nagging her. That would be one plus.

“Odd that,” Ruby teases. Emma chugs her wine. “I wonder why.”

“Well, I think it started when you decided to date Neal.”

Emma tips her glass to Ruby. “That’s a valid point. He was bad.”

“Horrible.”

“The worst,” Mary Margaret agrees. “Then there was August. Okay but not great.”

“Oh, Walsh,” Ruby adds. “He lasted a long time but he sucked at the end.”

“I don’t like this conversation,” Emma mutters under her breath. “Can we stop?”

“And after him, you met Killian at a bar and decided you’d sleep with him for fun because you knew he wasn’t a permanent fixture.”

“Emma does hate a permanent fixture.”

“Nothing scares her more.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans. She puts her glass on the counter. “I’ll go on the date with Graham if it’ll make us never have this conversation again.”

-/-

Nothing looks good.

Why are heels really the only nice outfit appropriate shoe? What is she supposed to do when it’s summer and boots are no longer an option? Work will be hell.

That seems like the best idea.

Emma looks at herself in the mirror. The boots look perfect.

She looks great.

Dammit.

She’s going to go on this date. It’s going to be good for her. She’s going to have fun.

There’s a knock on her door, and Emma curses to herself. She Flips her hair, fluffing it, and runs her nail along the corner of her lips to get any stray lipstick.

Okay, this is it, and she’s okay with that.

Maybe. A little.

Her stomach still doesn’t feel quite right, and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

Can she cancel when the man is literally at her door?

Killian.

That’s Killian on the other side of her door.

Killian is not supposed to be on the other side of her door.

But there he is, standing there with a bag thrown over his shoulder and a bright white smile on his face.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Holy fuck.”

“Two words that don’t necessarily go together, but I can’t say I mind.”

Emma rarely thinks of herself as speechless, but right now, her brain and her mouth aren’t connecting. She doesn’t know what to say.

He’s a month early.

He’s never a month early.

He’s never early at all.

At least, not like this.

His schedule changes a lot. It does. She’s used to that. But it’s a day here, a week there. It’s not this.

And it’s never unexpected. She always knows.

But then again, he has been a little quiet the last few days. She should have suspected something.

Then again, she’s been quiet too.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles as she kicks at imaginary dirt.

On a date.

A date who is picking her up at her apartment because Mary Margaret swears the man isn’t a serial killer and that it’s a safe thing to do.

Right now, it’s feeling really freaking stupid.

“Killian,” Emma mumbles as his lips fall away from hers and move toward her jaw. “Killian, I can’t.”

“What?” he mumbles, still kissing her.

God, she really wants to.

“I should have called,” he whispers. “You have a date.”

“Killian.”

“You look beautiful.” He backs away and picks up his bag. Emma is immediately freezing. “I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Call me if you’d like to.”

-/-

Graham is a really nice guy.

Ridiculously nice, actually.

Or maybe Emma was just giving off vibes that she didn’t want to kiss him.

Because all she could think about was the other man who showed up at her door earlier and how she wanted to be with him.

God, she’s missed him. and now instead of being with him, she’s alone, her dress crumpled on the floor of her bedroom.

Why did she have to go?

She’s got no freaking clue, but she did it. She did it, and now she’s alone.

Emma has never minded being alone, not when she’s so used to it, but right now, it really sucks.

-/-

Emma doesn’t call Killian.

Killian doesn’t call Emma.

It’s a battle where no one is firing, and that’s where the danger lies.

-/-

Emma doesn’t text Graham.

Graham does text Emma.

She gives in and tells him that he’s a great guy, that she had a great time, but she’s not interested right now.

She’ll deal with the fallout from her friends when it comes. It’ll be better than forcing herself into something she so, so isn’t ready for.

At least not with him.

-/-

What’s happening now is not normal.

And Emma doesn’t want to think about it.

But she does.

She thinks about it until it becomes one her demons, the scary ones that don’t just come out at night but also hang around during the day.

There’s no place to hide.

Maybe some ships are always meant to pass in the night, narrowly missing each other.

Maybe if the captains were brave enough, they could make sure the ships meet up.

-/-

“Oh, would you look at that,” Mary Margaret says, “Killian’s in London now.”

Emma was definitely not made for the summer months. She much prefers the chill of the winter.

“How’d you see that?” David asks. He leans over his wife’s shoulder. “I thought he didn’t use Instagram.”

“He does sometimes, but this is on his sister-in-law’s page.”

Emma isn’t proud of it, but she grabs her phone off the table and quickly types in Elsa’s name.

How long will he be in London? Where will he go after that? Is he going to ever be back in Boston?

He doesn’t have a place here anymore. He always stays with her or at a hotel, but he always comes back.

Or he at least used to. She doesn’t actually know anymore.

The caption simply reads: mornings with her.

Sentimental, cheesy man.

Emma does something stupid again, and she taps on the corner of her screen to message him.

@emmaswan22: I like your new tattoos.

It takes under a minute for him to message back. In that minute, she still manages to have a minor anxiety attack.

God, she hopes no one at this dinner party is paying her any attention.

@killianjones: You should see the new one on my ass.

@emmaswan22: I’d love to see it one day.

@killianjones: I’d be happy to show you.

Emma bites her bottom lip.

@killianjones: I miss you, Swan.

It’s such a 180 to the way their conversation was heading that Emma nearly drops her phone. It stumbles out of her hands, but she grabs it before it can hit the hard floor.

@emmaswan22: You look like you’re having a nice time with your family.

@killianjones: Aye, but I hear it’s nice in Boston this time of the year.

@emmaswan22: It’s hot as hell.

@killianjones: But the company would make it worth it.

Dammit. She’s twenty-eight. She should be able to deal with her own crap by now.

“Emma,” David says, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies with a smile. “I just need to get some air.”

“We’re outside.”

“Some cool air,” she covers. “I need to get some cool air.”

And then she’s gone, ducking inside the stairwell and running down them until she’s outside the building and on her way home.

Killian Jones isn’t the only one who can leave places.

-/-

She tells him that night that she only went on the one date with Graham.

He says he knows. She doesn’t bother to ask how.

They both leave a lot unsaid, but enough was said to begin to make things right.

What a weird situation they have.

More so, how weird would her life feel without it?

Be brave, Emma. Be brave.

@emmaswan22: I miss you too.

-/-

God, when did she become that asshole whose apartment has a polished lobby?

So, Emma most definitely must be hallucinating.

She has to be because there is no other explanation to what she thinks she’s seeing across the street.

He has a baseball hat on. That’s not unusual for him, but it’s not exactly…usual. She can’t think of another word. Her brain is not working at the moment.

Because, there, in Williamson Furniture is Killian Jones.

Or, hell, the best damn Killian Jones impersonator on the planet.

What the fuck?

Killian calls more often.

It’s normal and weird all wrapped into one complicated…something. She wants to call it a relationship, but to be honest, she doesn’t know what they are anymore.

She’s never really known, but it’s always been something.

Not just friends, not quite true lovers.

The surprise didn’t go well last time. They talked about it.

Why the hell would he do it again?

Maybe he simply doesn’t want her to know he’s here.

“Emma.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

What a weird thought.

Killian smiles, the one she knows he uses to charm people, and Emma swears she feels it in the pit of her stomach. This is a weird day with weird thoughts with even weirder sightings.

“I need a table.”

“Why?”

He arches a brow. “I, unlike you, prefer to eat at a table instead of sitting on the couch.”

“No, why do you need a table? Don’t you need somewhere to put it? The shipping costs from here to…wherever probably suck.”

“I was thinking I’d just call some of my mates and have them help me carry it to my place. Not a great time, but not expensive either.”

“Your place…in DC?”

“My place here.” He pulls some keys out of his jacket pocket and holds them in front of him. “New assignment. A bit more of an office job.”

“I’m sorry…what? What are you talking about?”

It’s like he’s getting joy out of her confusion. The smug ass.

Because she is seriously, definitely confused right now.

She’s not sure if she’s angry or upset or, well, happy.

She hates herself a little bit for feeling that tiny shred of happiness and that even tinier shred of hope.

He steps even closer, and suddenly she can feel his warmth. God, he’s always been so warm.

“Did you miss me, Swan?”

But it hurts a hell of a lot more.

“You didn’t tell me you were here.”

“I wanted everything to be official.”

“You aren’t staying,” Emma sighs with a shake of her head. “You never can.”

“And what makes you think I do now?”

“Last month,” he begins, “we were on the phone, and you said something that stuck with me.”

“What was that?”

“That you wished I could be around more so we could give things a true go.”

Emma remembers that. She stayed up for hours thinking of how stupid she was to say that.

Maybe she wasn’t stupid.

“Did I say that?”

“Every word.” Killian lifts his head and presses his lips to her forehead. “So is it okay with you, Swan? For me to be here?”

“Aye, I can stay,” Killian whispers before pulling back. “So what do you think about this table?”

Emma laughs and, for the first time, actually takes a look at the table and at all the people who have just been witnessing their little show. “I think I’m a fan.”

Killian’s brow shoots sky high. “You only think you’re a fan?”

Emma hums and runs her hand along the wood. “It might take me awhile to get used to it being around all the time, but I think it might work out just fine. I’ve got a good hunch about it.”

“Me too,” he says before glancing down at her chest. Emma adjusts the flannel of her shirt, which she now remembers isn’t actually hers. “By the way, nice shirt.”

-/-

#icymi #queue poetic noble land mermaid

112 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 2 years

Text

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Opportunities to be happy doing nothing.

“I’m getting dressed. I have places to be, things to do.”

“People to meet?”

“So you know how the saying goes?”

“In bed with you?” Emma questions. “Whatever would I do in bed with you?”

“Sleep.”

Emma laughs and leans back into him, craning her neck to grant him more access. “This doesn’t feel like you want to go back to sleep.”

“Well, I think I might need to tire myself out first.”

“What do you have in mind?”

It’s Killian’s turn to laugh, and the vibrations of it against her skin nearly drive her mad.

This is good, these moments. They don’t get too many of them, and Emma doesn’t know why she bothered to even get out of bed.

Oh wait. She does. She needed coffee.

“Coffee,” Emma says as she turns and nuzzles her nose into the ink just below his collarbone. “I wanted coffee. That’s why I got out of bed.”

“What if I promise to make you coffee in an hour?”

“An hour is pushing it. By a lot.”

Killian laughs. “I was factoring in time to shower. And to get dressed. And maybe watch some television.”

“What if,” Emma says, kissing Killian’s chest as she laughs, “you take me out to get coffee instead? I’ll give you your hour if you do.”

“It’s a deal, Swan.”

-/-

Asshole.

But he’s her obnoxious ass today, and she isn’t going to complain.

Okay, she is, but she’ll keep it to a minimum.

None of that matters. Not when everything, right at this moment, is as close to perfect as she ever allows it to be.

She’s learning to allow herself to be happy. She’s got to keep remembering that.

“Killian.”

He looks up from his side of the booth and flashes her the smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle. She always loves when that happens.

“Yes, love?”

“I just,” she begins, but all the courage she had been building begins to dissipate, “I…”

Killian shrugs and shifts his foot against Emma’s under the table. “My flight back is tonight.”

“You stationed back in the states now or do they have you in Europe?”

“I’m in Italy for six months, but then I’ll be back for awhile.”

“Damn, Italy. That seems nice. Why don’t you give me a call when you’re back? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Yeah, mate,” Killian sighs, nodding to Will while his boot stays connected under her ankle, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Sweet. See you around, Jones. Nice to see you too, Emma.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, “nice to see you too.”

Only a little bit of that was a lie.

Will walks away from them and to his table across the diner. He sits down next to a pretty brunette, and as much as he annoys her when she runs into him, it’s good to see him happy.

“Hey,” Killian whispers, tugging at her ankle until she looks up, “I’ll be back, Emma. I always am. And you know not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

This is a routine they’ve done time and time again. It never gets easier, and she never quite knows what to say.

Emma gulps and nods as she unhooks her ankle. “Good.”

-/-

Dammit.

ES: Aren’t I supposed to be the one sending you care packages? Isn’t that usually how this whole deployment thing works?

She doesn’t expect a response. It’s far past midnight in Italy. But her phone vibrates immediately.

KJ: I’ve been in the Navy for 15 years. I like to switch things up.

ES: So I should cancel the gift I sent you?

KJ: Absolutely not. I love good, old-fashioned dirty pictures. I have to keep them in my wallet for safe keeping.

ES: I sent those one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.

KJ: They are stunning pictures. Everyone thought so.

Perfect.

Not that she would ever admit that.

Emma moves from her kitchen to her living room and settles down on the couch. She turns on the TV and finds a Christmas movie. She’s not a total grinch.

‘Tis the season and all.

ES: I will murder you if anyone besides you has ever seen those pictures.

KJ: I can assure you the only one who has ever laid eyes upon them is me.

She had to make sure.

God, this movie has been on for two minutes, and it already seems bad.

Okay, maybe she’s a little bit of a grinch.

ES: What are you doing awake?

KJ: Waiting for you.

Emma knows her heart doesn’t actually skip a beat, but it sure as hell feels like it.

KJ: Merry Christmas, love.

ES: Merry Christmas, Killian.

And, maybe, if she stays in the dark with the messages popping up on her phone, it will be.

-/-

“She’s in love with Jones,” Ruby says as Emma eats another cracker. “That’s why.”

“I am not in love with Killian,” Emma mumbles. Crumbs drop onto her shirt. It’s a pretty accurate description of her life at the moment.

Always an ulterior motive.

“Emma, is that really what it is? Are you still waiting on Killian?”

She’s damn well not waiting on fucking anyone, she thinks.

“I’m not waiting on anyone,” she says

She would…well, she would be too busy to get to enjoy life.

She’d likely save time on her friends nagging her. That would be one plus.

“Odd that,” Ruby teases. Emma chugs her wine. “I wonder why.”

“Well, I think it started when you decided to date Neal.”

Emma tips her glass to Ruby. “That’s a valid point. He was bad.”

“Horrible.”

“The worst,” Mary Margaret agrees. “Then there was August. Okay but not great.”

“Oh, Walsh,” Ruby adds. “He lasted a long time but he sucked at the end.”

“I don’t like this conversation,” Emma mutters under her breath. “Can we stop?”

“And after him, you met Killian at a bar and decided you’d sleep with him for fun because you knew he wasn’t a permanent fixture.”

“Emma does hate a permanent fixture.”

“Nothing scares her more.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans. She puts her glass on the counter. “I’ll go on the date with Graham if it’ll make us never have this conversation again.”

-/-

Nothing looks good.

Why are heels really the only nice outfit appropriate shoe? What is she supposed to do when it’s summer and boots are no longer an option? Work will be hell.

That seems like the best idea.

Emma looks at herself in the mirror. The boots look perfect.

She looks great.

Dammit.

She’s going to go on this date. It’s going to be good for her. She’s going to have fun.

There’s a knock on her door, and Emma curses to herself. She Flips her hair, fluffing it, and runs her nail along the corner of her lips to get any stray lipstick.

Okay, this is it, and she’s okay with that.

Maybe. A little.

Her stomach still doesn’t feel quite right, and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

Can she cancel when the man is literally at her door?

Killian.

That’s Killian on the other side of her door.

Killian is not supposed to be on the other side of her door.

But there he is, standing there with a bag thrown over his shoulder and a bright white smile on his face.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Holy fuck.”

“Two words that don’t necessarily go together, but I can’t say I mind.”

Emma rarely thinks of herself as speechless, but right now, her brain and her mouth aren’t connecting. She doesn’t know what to say.

He’s a month early.

He’s never a month early.

He’s never early at all.

At least, not like this.

His schedule changes a lot. It does. She’s used to that. But it’s a day here, a week there. It’s not this.

And it’s never unexpected. She always knows.

But then again, he has been a little quiet the last few days. She should have suspected something.

Then again, she’s been quiet too.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles as she kicks at imaginary dirt.

On a date.

A date who is picking her up at her apartment because Mary Margaret swears the man isn’t a serial killer and that it’s a safe thing to do.

Right now, it’s feeling really freaking stupid.

“Killian,” Emma mumbles as his lips fall away from hers and move toward her jaw. “Killian, I can’t.”

“What?” he mumbles, still kissing her.

God, she really wants to.

“I should have called,” he whispers. “You have a date.”

“Killian.”

“You look beautiful.” He backs away and picks up his bag. Emma is immediately freezing. “I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Call me if you’d like to.”

-/-

Graham is a really nice guy.

Ridiculously nice, actually.

Or maybe Emma was just giving off vibes that she didn’t want to kiss him.

Because all she could think about was the other man who showed up at her door earlier and how she wanted to be with him.

God, she’s missed him. and now instead of being with him, she’s alone, her dress crumpled on the floor of her bedroom.

Why did she have to go?

She’s got no freaking clue, but she did it. She did it, and now she’s alone.

Emma has never minded being alone, not when she’s so used to it, but right now, it really sucks.

-/-

Emma doesn’t call Killian.

Killian doesn’t call Emma.

It’s a battle where no one is firing, and that’s where the danger lies.

-/-

Emma doesn’t text Graham.

Graham does text Emma.

She gives in and tells him that he’s a great guy, that she had a great time, but she’s not interested right now.

She’ll deal with the fallout from her friends when it comes. It’ll be better than forcing herself into something she so, so isn’t ready for.

At least not with him.

-/-

What’s happening now is not normal.

And Emma doesn’t want to think about it.

But she does.

She thinks about it until it becomes one her demons, the scary ones that don’t just come out at night but also hang around during the day.

There’s no place to hide.

Maybe some ships are always meant to pass in the night, narrowly missing each other.

Maybe if the captains were brave enough, they could make sure the ships meet up.

-/-

“Oh, would you look at that,” Mary Margaret says, “Killian’s in London now.”

Emma was definitely not made for the summer months. She much prefers the chill of the winter.

“How’d you see that?” David asks. He leans over his wife’s shoulder. “I thought he didn’t use Instagram.”

“He does sometimes, but this is on his sister-in-law’s page.”

Emma isn’t proud of it, but she grabs her phone off the table and quickly types in Elsa’s name.

How long will he be in London? Where will he go after that? Is he going to ever be back in Boston?

He doesn’t have a place here anymore. He always stays with her or at a hotel, but he always comes back.

Or he at least used to. She doesn’t actually know anymore.

The caption simply reads: mornings with her.

Sentimental, cheesy man.

Emma does something stupid again, and she taps on the corner of her screen to message him.

@emmaswan22: I like your new tattoos.

It takes under a minute for him to message back. In that minute, she still manages to have a minor anxiety attack.

God, she hopes no one at this dinner party is paying her any attention.

@killianjones: You should see the new one on my ass.

@emmaswan22: I’d love to see it one day.

@killianjones: I’d be happy to show you.

Emma bites her bottom lip.

@killianjones: I miss you, Swan.

It’s such a 180 to the way their conversation was heading that Emma nearly drops her phone. It stumbles out of her hands, but she grabs it before it can hit the hard floor.

@emmaswan22: You look like you’re having a nice time with your family.

@killianjones: Aye, but I hear it’s nice in Boston this time of the year.

@emmaswan22: It’s hot as hell.

@killianjones: But the company would make it worth it.

Dammit. She’s twenty-eight. She should be able to deal with her own crap by now.

“Emma,” David says, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies with a smile. “I just need to get some air.”

“We’re outside.”

“Some cool air,” she covers. “I need to get some cool air.”

And then she’s gone, ducking inside the stairwell and running down them until she’s outside the building and on her way home.

Killian Jones isn’t the only one who can leave places.

-/-

She tells him that night that she only went on the one date with Graham.

He says he knows. She doesn’t bother to ask how.

They both leave a lot unsaid, but enough was said to begin to make things right.

What a weird situation they have.

More so, how weird would her life feel without it?

Be brave, Emma. Be brave.

@emmaswan22: I miss you too.

-/-

God, when did she become that asshole whose apartment has a polished lobby?

So, Emma most definitely must be hallucinating.

She has to be because there is no other explanation to what she thinks she’s seeing across the street.

He has a baseball hat on. That’s not unusual for him, but it’s not exactly…usual. She can’t think of another word. Her brain is not working at the moment.

Because, there, in Williamson Furniture is Killian Jones.

Or, hell, the best damn Killian Jones impersonator on the planet.

What the fuck?

Killian calls more often.

It’s normal and weird all wrapped into one complicated…something. She wants to call it a relationship, but to be honest, she doesn’t know what they are anymore.

She’s never really known, but it’s always been something.

Not just friends, not quite true lovers.

The surprise didn’t go well last time. They talked about it.

Why the hell would he do it again?

Maybe he simply doesn’t want her to know he’s here.

“Emma.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

What a weird thought.

Killian smiles, the one she knows he uses to charm people, and Emma swears she feels it in the pit of her stomach. This is a weird day with weird thoughts with even weirder sightings.

“I need a table.”

“Why?”

He arches a brow. “I, unlike you, prefer to eat at a table instead of sitting on the couch.”

“No, why do you need a table? Don’t you need somewhere to put it? The shipping costs from here to…wherever probably suck.”

“I was thinking I’d just call some of my mates and have them help me carry it to my place. Not a great time, but not expensive either.”

“Your place…in DC?”

“My place here.” He pulls some keys out of his jacket pocket and holds them in front of him. “New assignment. A bit more of an office job.”

“I’m sorry…what? What are you talking about?”

It’s like he’s getting joy out of her confusion. The smug ass.

Because she is seriously, definitely confused right now.

She’s not sure if she’s angry or upset or, well, happy.

She hates herself a little bit for feeling that tiny shred of happiness and that even tinier shred of hope.

He steps even closer, and suddenly she can feel his warmth. God, he’s always been so warm.

“Did you miss me, Swan?”

But it hurts a hell of a lot more.

“You didn’t tell me you were here.”

“I wanted everything to be official.”

“You aren’t staying,” Emma sighs with a shake of her head. “You never can.”

“And what makes you think I do now?”

“Last month,” he begins, “we were on the phone, and you said something that stuck with me.”

“What was that?”

“That you wished I could be around more so we could give things a true go.”

Emma remembers that. She stayed up for hours thinking of how stupid she was to say that.

Maybe she wasn’t stupid.

“Did I say that?”

“Every word.” Killian lifts his head and presses his lips to her forehead. “So is it okay with you, Swan? For me to be here?”

“Aye, I can stay,” Killian whispers before pulling back. “So what do you think about this table?”

Emma laughs and, for the first time, actually takes a look at the table and at all the people who have just been witnessing their little show. “I think I’m a fan.”

Killian’s brow shoots sky high. “You only think you’re a fan?”

Emma hums and runs her hand along the wood. “It might take me awhile to get used to it being around all the time, but I think it might work out just fine. I’ve got a good hunch about it.”

“Me too,” he says before glancing down at her chest. Emma adjusts the flannel of her shirt, which she now remembers isn’t actually hers. “By the way, nice shirt.”

-/-

#icymi #queue poetic noble land mermaid

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let-it-raines · 2 years

Text

Ships Passing in the Night

Summary: It's a day here, a week there, a phone call across time zones. It's all Emma and Killian have had for years, and they are okay with it. It's their arrangement, and it works for them.

Until it doesn't. And maybe, this go-round, they both need something more .

On AO3 | HERE |

-/-

“Is that my shirt?”

“Swan,” Killian says as the sheets rustle with his movement, “I was planning on wearing that today.”

Opportunities to be happy doing nothing.

“I’m getting dressed. I have places to be, things to do.”

“People to meet?”

“So you know how the saying goes?”

“In bed with you?” Emma questions. “Whatever would I do in bed with you?”

“Sleep.”

Emma laughs and leans back into him, craning her neck to grant him more access. “This doesn’t feel like you want to go back to sleep.”

“Well, I think I might need to tire myself out first.”

“What do you have in mind?”

It’s Killian’s turn to laugh, and the vibrations of it against her skin nearly drive her mad.

This is good, these moments. They don’t get too many of them, and Emma doesn’t know why she bothered to even get out of bed.

Oh wait. She does. She needed coffee.

“Coffee,” Emma says as she turns and nuzzles her nose into the ink just below his collarbone. “I wanted coffee. That’s why I got out of bed.”

“What if I promise to make you coffee in an hour?”

“An hour is pushing it. By a lot.”

Killian laughs. “I was factoring in time to shower. And to get dressed. And maybe watch some television.”

“What if,” Emma says, kissing Killian’s chest as she laughs, “you take me out to get coffee instead? I’ll give you your hour if you do.”

“It’s a deal, Swan.”

-/-

Asshole.

But he’s her obnoxious ass today, and she isn’t going to complain.

Okay, she is, but she’ll keep it to a minimum.

None of that matters. Not when everything, right at this moment, is as close to perfect as she ever allows it to be.

She’s learning to allow herself to be happy. She’s got to keep remembering that.

“Killian.”

He looks up from his side of the booth and flashes her the smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle. She always loves when that happens.

“Yes, love?”

“I just,” she begins, but all the courage she had been building begins to dissipate, “I…”

Killian shrugs and shifts his foot against Emma’s under the table. “My flight back is tonight.”

“You stationed back in the states now or do they have you in Europe?”

“I’m in Italy for six months, but then I’ll be back for awhile.”

“Damn, Italy. That seems nice. Why don’t you give me a call when you’re back? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Yeah, mate,” Killian sighs, nodding to Will while his boot stays connected under her ankle, “I’ll give you a call.”

“Sweet. See you around, Jones. Nice to see you too, Emma.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, “nice to see you too.”

Only a little bit of that was a lie.

Will walks away from them and to his table across the diner. He sits down next to a pretty brunette, and as much as he annoys her when she runs into him, it’s good to see him happy.

“Hey,” Killian whispers, tugging at her ankle until she looks up, “I’ll be back, Emma. I always am. And you know not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

This is a routine they’ve done time and time again. It never gets easier, and she never quite knows what to say.

Emma gulps and nods as she unhooks her ankle. “Good.”

-/-

Dammit.

ES: Aren’t I supposed to be the one sending you care packages? Isn’t that usually how this whole deployment thing works?

She doesn’t expect a response. It’s far past midnight in Italy. But her phone vibrates immediately.

KJ: I’ve been in the Navy for 15 years. I like to switch things up.

ES: So I should cancel the gift I sent you?

KJ: Absolutely not. I love good, old-fashioned dirty pictures. I have to keep them in my wallet for safe keeping.

ES: I sent those one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.

KJ: They are stunning pictures. Everyone thought so.

Perfect.

Not that she would ever admit that.

Emma moves from her kitchen to her living room and settles down on the couch. She turns on the TV and finds a Christmas movie. She’s not a total grinch.

‘Tis the season and all.

ES: I will murder you if anyone besides you has ever seen those pictures.

KJ: I can assure you the only one who has ever laid eyes upon them is me.

She had to make sure.

God, this movie has been on for two minutes, and it already seems bad.

Okay, maybe she’s a little bit of a grinch.

ES: What are you doing awake?

KJ: Waiting for you.

Emma knows her heart doesn’t actually skip a beat, but it sure as hell feels like it.

KJ: Merry Christmas, love.

ES: Merry Christmas, Killian.

And, maybe, if she stays in the dark with the messages popping up on her phone, it will be.

-/-

“She’s in love with Jones,” Ruby says as Emma eats another cracker. “That’s why.”

“I am not in love with Killian,” Emma mumbles. Crumbs drop onto her shirt. It’s a pretty accurate description of her life at the moment.

Always an ulterior motive.

“Emma, is that really what it is? Are you still waiting on Killian?”

She’s damn well not waiting on fucking anyone, she thinks.

“I’m not waiting on anyone,” she says

She would…well, she would be too busy to get to enjoy life.

She’d likely save time on her friends nagging her. That would be one plus.

“Odd that,” Ruby teases. Emma chugs her wine. “I wonder why.”

“Well, I think it started when you decided to date Neal.”

Emma tips her glass to Ruby. “That’s a valid point. He was bad.”

“Horrible.”

“The worst,” Mary Margaret agrees. “Then there was August. Okay but not great.”

“Oh, Walsh,” Ruby adds. “He lasted a long time but he sucked at the end.”

“I don’t like this conversation,” Emma mutters under her breath. “Can we stop?”

“And after him, you met Killian at a bar and decided you’d sleep with him for fun because you knew he wasn’t a permanent fixture.”

“Emma does hate a permanent fixture.”

“Nothing scares her more.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans. She puts her glass on the counter. “I’ll go on the date with Graham if it’ll make us never have this conversation again.”

-/-

Nothing looks good.

Why are heels really the only nice outfit appropriate shoe? What is she supposed to do when it’s summer and boots are no longer an option? Work will be hell.

That seems like the best idea.

Emma looks at herself in the mirror. The boots look perfect.

She looks great.

Dammit.

She’s going to go on this date. It’s going to be good for her. She’s going to have fun.

There’s a knock on her door, and Emma curses to herself. She Flips her hair, fluffing it, and runs her nail along the corner of her lips to get any stray lipstick.

Okay, this is it, and she’s okay with that.

Maybe. A little.

Her stomach still doesn’t feel quite right, and she doesn’t know what to do about it.

Can she cancel when the man is literally at her door?

Killian.

That’s Killian on the other side of her door.

Killian is not supposed to be on the other side of her door.

But there he is, standing there with a bag thrown over his shoulder and a bright white smile on his face.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Holy fuck.”

“Two words that don’t necessarily go together, but I can’t say I mind.”

Emma rarely thinks of herself as speechless, but right now, her brain and her mouth aren’t connecting. She doesn’t know what to say.

He’s a month early.

He’s never a month early.

He’s never early at all.

At least, not like this.

His schedule changes a lot. It does. She’s used to that. But it’s a day here, a week there. It’s not this.

And it’s never unexpected. She always knows.

But then again, he has been a little quiet the last few days. She should have suspected something.

Then again, she’s been quiet too.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles as she kicks at imaginary dirt.

On a date.

A date who is picking her up at her apartment because Mary Margaret swears the man isn’t a serial killer and that it’s a safe thing to do.

Right now, it’s feeling really freaking stupid.

“Killian,” Emma mumbles as his lips fall away from hers and move toward her jaw. “Killian, I can’t.”

“What?” he mumbles, still kissing her.

God, she really wants to.

“I should have called,” he whispers. “You have a date.”

“Killian.”

“You look beautiful.” He backs away and picks up his bag. Emma is immediately freezing. “I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Call me if you’d like to.”

-/-

Graham is a really nice guy.

Ridiculously nice, actually.

Or maybe Emma was just giving off vibes that she didn’t want to kiss him.

Because all she could think about was the other man who showed up at her door earlier and how she wanted to be with him.

God, she’s missed him. and now instead of being with him, she’s alone, her dress crumpled on the floor of her bedroom.

Why did she have to go?

She’s got no freaking clue, but she did it. She did it, and now she’s alone.

Emma has never minded being alone, not when she’s so used to it, but right now, it really sucks.

-/-

Emma doesn’t call Killian.

Killian doesn’t call Emma.

It’s a battle where no one is firing, and that’s where the danger lies.

-/-

Emma doesn’t text Graham.

Graham does text Emma.

She gives in and tells him that he’s a great guy, that she had a great time, but she’s not interested right now.

She’ll deal with the fallout from her friends when it comes. It’ll be better than forcing herself into something she so, so isn’t ready for.

At least not with him.

-/-

What’s happening now is not normal.

And Emma doesn’t want to think about it.

But she does.

She thinks about it until it becomes one her demons, the scary ones that don’t just come out at night but also hang around during the day.

There’s no place to hide.

Maybe some ships are always meant to pass in the night, narrowly missing each other.

Maybe if the captains were brave enough, they could make sure the ships meet up.

-/-

“Oh, would you look at that,” Mary Margaret says, “Killian’s in London now.”

Emma was definitely not made for the summer months. She much prefers the chill of the winter.

“How’d you see that?” David asks. He leans over his wife’s shoulder. “I thought he didn’t use Instagram.”

“He does sometimes, but this is on his sister-in-law’s page.”

Emma isn’t proud of it, but she grabs her phone off the table and quickly types in Elsa’s name.

How long will he be in London? Where will he go after that? Is he going to ever be back in Boston?

He doesn’t have a place here anymore. He always stays with her or at a hotel, but he always comes back.

Or he at least used to. She doesn’t actually know anymore.

The caption simply reads: mornings with her.

Sentimental, cheesy man.

Emma does something stupid again, and she taps on the corner of her screen to message him.

@emmaswan22: I like your new tattoos.

It takes under a minute for him to message back. In that minute, she still manages to have a minor anxiety attack.

God, she hopes no one at this dinner party is paying her any attention.

@killianjones: You should see the new one on my ass.

@emmaswan22: I’d love to see it one day.

@killianjones: I’d be happy to show you.

Emma bites her bottom lip.

@killianjones: I miss you, Swan.

It’s such a 180 to the way their conversation was heading that Emma nearly drops her phone. It stumbles out of her hands, but she grabs it before it can hit the hard floor.

@emmaswan22: You look like you’re having a nice time with your family.

@killianjones: Aye, but I hear it’s nice in Boston this time of the year.

@emmaswan22: It’s hot as hell.

@killianjones: But the company would make it worth it.

Dammit. She’s twenty-eight. She should be able to deal with her own crap by now.

“Emma,” David says, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies with a smile. “I just need to get some air.”

“We’re outside.”

“Some cool air,” she covers. “I need to get some cool air.”

And then she’s gone, ducking inside the stairwell and running down them until she’s outside the building and on her way home.

Killian Jones isn’t the only one who can leave places.

-/-

She tells him that night that she only went on the one date with Graham.

He says he knows. She doesn’t bother to ask how.

They both leave a lot unsaid, but enough was said to begin to make things right.

What a weird situation they have.

More so, how weird would her life feel without it?

Be brave, Emma. Be brave.

@emmaswan22: I miss you too.

-/-

God, when did she become that asshole whose apartment has a polished lobby?

So, Emma most definitely must be hallucinating.

She has to be because there is no other explanation to what she thinks she’s seeing across the street.

He has a baseball hat on. That’s not unusual for him, but it’s not exactly…usual. She can’t think of another word. Her brain is not working at the moment.

Because, there, in Williamson Furniture is Killian Jones.

Or, hell, the best damn Killian Jones impersonator on the planet.

What the fuck?

Killian calls more often.

It’s normal and weird all wrapped into one complicated…something. She wants to call it a relationship, but to be honest, she doesn’t know what they are anymore.

She’s never really known, but it’s always been something.

Not just friends, not quite true lovers.

The surprise didn’t go well last time. They talked about it.

Why the hell would he do it again?

Maybe he simply doesn’t want her to know he’s here.

“Emma.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

What a weird thought.

Killian smiles, the one she knows he uses to charm people, and Emma swears she feels it in the pit of her stomach. This is a weird day with weird thoughts with even weirder sightings.

“I need a table.”

“Why?”

He arches a brow. “I, unlike you, prefer to eat at a table instead of sitting on the couch.”

“No, why do you need a table? Don’t you need somewhere to put it? The shipping costs from here to…wherever probably suck.”

“I was thinking I’d just call some of my mates and have them help me carry it to my place. Not a great time, but not expensive either.”

“Your place…in DC?”

“My place here.” He pulls some keys out of his jacket pocket and holds them in front of him. “New assignment. A bit more of an office job.”

“I’m sorry…what? What are you talking about?”

It’s like he’s getting joy out of her confusion. The smug ass.

Because she is seriously, definitely confused right now.

She’s not sure if she’s angry or upset or, well, happy.

She hates herself a little bit for feeling that tiny shred of happiness and that even tinier shred of hope.

He steps even closer, and suddenly she can feel his warmth. God, he’s always been so warm.

“Did you miss me, Swan?”

But it hurts a hell of a lot more.

“You didn’t tell me you were here.”

“I wanted everything to be official.”

“You aren’t staying,” Emma sighs with a shake of her head. “You never can.”

“And what makes you think I do now?”

“Last month,” he begins, “we were on the phone, and you said something that stuck with me.”

“What was that?”

“That you wished I could be around more so we could give things a true go.”

Emma remembers that. She stayed up for hours thinking of how stupid she was to say that.

Maybe she wasn’t stupid.

“Did I say that?”

“Every word.” Killian lifts his head and presses his lips to her forehead. “So is it okay with you, Swan? For me to be here?”

“Aye, I can stay,” Killian whispers before pulling back. “So what do you think about this table?”

Emma laughs and, for the first time, actually takes a look at the table and at all the people who have just been witnessing their little show. “I think I’m a fan.”

Killian’s brow shoots sky high. “You only think you’re a fan?”

Emma hums and runs her hand along the wood. “It might take me awhile to get used to it being around all the time, but I think it might work out just fine. I’ve got a good hunch about it.”

“Me too,” he says before glancing down at her chest. Emma adjusts the flannel of her shirt, which she now remembers isn’t actually hers. “By the way, nice shirt.”

-/-

#ships passing in the night #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan

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